Friends Like These
by iwillrunforever
Summary: To Harleen Quinzel, Gotham City is home. Having left at 12 she is finally returning, now 17 and changed. She has developed a passion for psychology and an addiction to danger. After she meets Jerome Valeska there is instantly a connection between them, and this leads to more danger than she could ever hope to handle.
1. Prologue

Gotham City. Rife with crime, poverty and homeless, it is not considered a safe place for anyone but those willing to kill for their own protection. However, many rich business people make their wealth here, benefitting from the plight of others. My mother is the CEO of Arthur Ammunitions, a weapons and ammunition company started by her grandfather. At 22 she was employed as a sales consultant, working her way up through the company. Her work is why we stayed in Gotham after I was born, despite the rising crime in the city. She benefited from this crime, selling weapons to mob bosses and kingpins, in an attempt to provide protection for her family. Due to this, I grew up in a life of privilege and luxury, anything I wanted available to me whenever I wanted. When I was 4, my sister Wren was born but this still did not deter my mother from staying in Gotham. However, when I was 12 crime spiked and we came under threat. My parents could not protect me at all hours of the day, and I ended up alone and face to face with a dangerous criminal. This was the last straw. We moved to New York, my mother running the company from our new home, but I hated it. Without the near constant threat of danger, my life felt almost empty. No longer was there that rush of adrenaline when I was out on the streets after dark, when I climbed up to the roof at night. Of course, safety is nice, but living in Gotham for your life makes anywhere else seem drab and boring.

But now I'm home. Work called my mother back to our home, and the rest of the family followed. We returned to the same house, and as soon as we arrived I felt that danger that I craved. From the sirens and gunshots at night to the hairs standing up on the back of my neck on my walk home, it was everything that I needed, the rush of adrenaline that made me feel alive. At 16 I am now a representative of the family company and am expected to be respectable and uphold the family name. But this will not stop me from seeking that thrill, that rush. It will simply make me more careful, and make the rush all the more worth it.


	2. Home Sweet Home

The rain tapping on my window comforts me. It is the epitome of Gotham City: grim, grey, and unwanted, yet at the same time rejuvenating, life-giving. Not enough of it, and plants and people alike shrivel up and die; too much and we are overwhelmed by its power. I love it. Sitting in front of my mirror I gaze at my reflection as I finish braiding my hair. My fingers move quickly and easily, and I soon finish the intricate braid with a hair tie. I turn my head from left to right, checking that the two braids are even. They are. Standing up and running my hands down my dress I give myself a final check before leaving. My parents are meeting Bruce Wayne over dinner for a business discussion, and they insisted that I join them. Bruce is only slightly younger than me, and yet he has more independence than I ever will. Not that I envy being an orphan. At least not all the time. I slip on my black heels and grab my purse, turning off my bedroom light as I hurry out of my room.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I stop in the hall. I can hear my parents fighting in the study. They're always fighting about something: work, school, money, me. They don't realise that I can tell they're having problems; around me and Wren they act as though they are the perfect couple. They still see me as the child I was when we left, unable to understand what the world is truly like. But I understand perfectly. The world is chaos, filled with people clawing to be at the top of the pack just so that they don't suffer like those at the bottom of the pile, but inevitably forgetting those living the lives they tried so hard to escape. An endless cycle of birth, life, suffering, and death. All we can do is fight the endless tide of danger and despair, or you can give in to the flood and go with the flow. That is how you get enjoyment out of life. Eventually becoming exasperated by my parents' argument, I knock twice on the door, wait for a second, and then knock again. Rolling my eyes, I turn around and walk back to the bottom of the stairs, allowing them to compose themselves.

My father drives us to the restaurant. An awkward silence surrounds us, the tension between my parents weighing down heavily. In an attempt to escape I gaze out of the rain-streaked window at the city streets I've missed. The orange glow of street lights illuminates the people hurrying through the rain, highlighting the blackness of the alleys. I can only imagine what must be down there: thieves, killers, drug addicts and countless other dangers. In New York, I was never allowed to leave the house without a chaperone, even if I was just going to the shop half a block away, but that didn't stop me. I was fourteen when I first snuck out into the dead of night. At first, I kept to the fire escape, simply watching the world go by, but after a few months the excitement had worn off. I hadn't even come close to being caught, so I went a step further. I would climb down into the garden and walk around, listening to the city move around me. The novelty quickly wore off. So I left. Opened the gate and walked out. I came alive. I wandered the city, exploring a whole new world that had been kept from me for years. It was exhilarating, invigorating, everything that I had never felt in my life. And I was hooked. It was like a drug. I needed more and more just to live, so I took bigger and bigger risks. Shoplifting, breaking into cars, it slowly built. And then my mother received a call, our bags were packed, and we were returning home.

I am jolted out of my memories as the car stops. I open my door and step out onto the sidewalk, ducking my head, trying to shelter from the rain as I wait for my parents. They quickly join me and we quickly make the short walk to the restaurant. Once we are inside I lift my head and gently shake the rain from my hair. The restaurant is impressive, yet somehow also intimate. The walls are hidden by red velvet curtains, and the expansive room is softly lit by small chandeliers lining the ceiling. It's beautiful. We are guided to our table by a waitress, and I see who I presume is Bruce Wayne sitting next to an older man. As we approach they both stand.

"Mrs Quinzel," He greets, extending a hand. "I am Bruce Wayne, and this is my butler, Alfred Pennyworth." The older man nods in acknowledgement. "A pleasure to meet you, Bruce," My mother takes his hand and shakes it firmly, a warm smile on her face. "This is my husband Trevor, and my daughter Harleen." He shakes my father's hand, then mine. His grip is strong but still gentle. I give a small smile, and sit down at the circular table. We order drinks and food, and he and my parents begin to talk. I zone out their words and examine Bruce. He seems honest enough, but there is an anger deep inside. He clearly cares about the wellbeing of his company, and of his parents' legacy. He cares enough to take over as much of the running of the company as he can despite his young age. He is handsome, with dark hair and eyes and fair skin that could likely make any girl swoon if he wanted them to. I hope he isn't aware of his looks. When boys his age realise they're attractive, it goes to their heads and makes them cocky. And he is not in a position to be cocky. "So, you are still attending school, Bruce?" My father asks, drawing my attention.

"Yes," Bruce replies, his confidence wavering slightly, "I feel that education is vital to success in life, and I do not want to take what I have for granted."

"Where do you go?"

"Gotham Academy." Oh, joy. "Well, that's lucky! Harleen will be starting classes their next week, once we're settled in." I groan internally at my mother's enthusiasm and glare down at my food.

"Really?" Bruce enquires, and I nod. "I could show you around if you like."

I give a small smile and nod, "That sounds great." My voice gives away my insincerity, but Bruce either doesn't notice or doesn't care. That boy is to well-meaning for his own good.

The rest of dinner was boring. The conversation quickly moved on from school and I was once again left to listen to business. I sit in bed, running a brush through my hair and thinking about school with Bruce Wayne, boy billionaire. I hadn't thought about it until my father mentioned it, but the school will be full of the children of rich parents with their own businesses and super successful careers: children like me. But not like me. These people will be spoiled, entitled idiots who have no idea what life outside their bubble of privilege is like. They'll want to talk about clothes and makeup and celebrities, and ignore anything that actually matters. This is going to be torture. I throw my hairbrush across the room, not caring where it lands. I lay down, my head cushioned by a mountain of pillows, and gaze out of my window. There is a full moon tonight. I smile to myself, finally at home.


	3. Judgement

I look around the school grounds, feeling like a cat at the dog park. Every uniform rule is followed and not a hair is out of place. I watch a girl walk past and examine what she is wearing, comparing it to me. Knee-length pleated skirt, fitted blazer with the school badge emblazoned on the chest, and shiny black shoes with no hint of a heel. I, on the other hand, am wearing fishnet tights, a form-fitting skirt that comes to my mid-thigh, and a leather jacket. Shaking off my discomfort, I stride forward, chin up and hair loose behind me, oozing confidence. I can't tell if people are staring, but something tells me that they probably are. That doesn't matter. I'd rather not have to wait for the rumours to start, the new girl that some people must recognise, but can't quite place. I wonder what they'll say. If I'll be a rebel, expelled from my last school and ready to beat my record for detentions, or a criminal, excused from my crimes because of my parents' influence; or maybe something else. Who knows?

Dumping my lunch into my otherwise empty locker, I close the door with a thud. Looking up and down the row of clean, unmarked lockers, I cringe at the lack of personality. This school seems to have drained the life from every pupil within its walls, leaving only soulless clones. I will not let that happen to me. I begin to walk away from my locker, wanting to make an early attempt at finding my first class, when I hear a voice calling my name. There is only one person at the school that knows who I am, and I groan internally, preparing myself for what is to come. I turn, and see Bruce Wayne heading straight towards me.

"Hey Bruce," I greet, not even trying to appear happy at his presence.

"Have you got your timetable yet?"

"Yeah, I've got Math with Miss Kenneth first."

"Oh, I've got English," He sounds disappointed, "But I can show you to your class if you like?"

"Okay," I could find it on my own, but I should at least try not to be a complete bitch. He heads off in the opposite direction I was planning on going, and I trail behind, dangling my bag off of one shoulder. He turns a corner and I hurry to catch up, finding him waiting for me when I do. We walk up a flight of stairs, a slightly awkward silence surrounding us. Feeling guilty, I make an attempt at conversation, "So, what's Miss Kenneth like?"

"Alright, I guess. She can be strict, but if you follow the rules you should be fine." He looks at me and I raise my eyebrows, glancing down towards my uniform that breaks almost every rule and restriction in the book. He grins in response, "You might have a bit of trouble with her."

"I can deal with a stuck-up teacher, as long as she can actually teach. It's the ones that can't that are the problem." He nods, I assume in agreement, as we walk down the corridor. "Thank you for helping me. I know I was a bit…"

"Standoffish?" He offers, and I grin and nod, "It's okay. I guessed you were probably nervous, or uncomfortable."

"Yeah," It's a good enough excuse as any, and I would rather he didn't hate me. He stops outside of a door just as the bell rings.

"This is you," I peer into the class, noting the bare walls and the teacher's tidy desk. I sigh.

"Thanks again," I say as I turn back to Bruce, but he has already disappeared in the flood of pupils moving to their classes. I hover outside the door waiting for the teacher, not wanting to risk sitting at someone else's seat. By the time the class is mostly full, the teacher has arrived. I step forward and introduce myself, and after giving me a textbook she directs me to a seat at the back corner of the class next to the window. I sit down, taking out a folder, a pad of paper and a pen, and lean back in my chair. There is no one next to me, so I can spread my stuff out all over the desk. As Miss Kenneth begins her lesson, I stare out of the window at the clouds rolling past.

The bell rings for lunch. I scoop my books into my bag and leave English in a hurry. Not that I don't enjoy the subject, but "The Great Gatsby" is just so depressing. These people born into money that can only sit around and complain about the emptiness of their lives, when people are actually suffering. However, I decide that it is surprisingly accurate as I look at the people around me. They just don't realise how lucky they are. They haven't seen the truth of the world, the endless suffering that beats against people simply because of how they were born. I can't say much, having been born into the exact same situation as "the lucky ones", but at least I try to remember those that are less fortunate. If it weren't for those at the bottom, we couldn't be at the top. I dump my books and pull my food out of my locker. Slamming it shut, I head outside to find an empty bench. Not that I don't appreciate certain people's attempts at friendship, but I need some alone time. Finding a bench in a secluded corner under a tree, I sit and start eating. I wonder how Wren is doing. She isn't nearly as confident as I am, having been constantly protected and sheltered by our parents. I hope she's made a friend, or at least not made any enemies. I hope that I haven't made any either. Glancing up, I see a group of girls staring at me and whispering to each other. I can only imagine what they're saying. I make eye contact with one of them, a tan girl with glossy brown hair, and she turns away quickly. The others follow suit. I smirk to myself, and return to my food. I seem to have already gained a reputation.

Final class of the day: Psychology. I never got to take this in New York so everything I know is self-taught; I'm glad I'll finally get taught by a teacher rather than by the library. My notepad is out, pencil at the ready. Mr Wilkinson stands from his desk and writes on the board "CRIMINAL PSYCHOLOGY", then turns towards the class.

"So, who can tell me something about criminal psychology?" A few hands go up, but I don't bother. He chooses someone seemingly at random.

"Criminal psychology is the study of the wills, thoughts and motives of criminals."

"Correct. Who else?" Again, he chooses someone.

"It first became established during the Second World War when a psychiatrist was employed to profile Hitler." This goes on for a while, until he begins actually teaching. He summarises everything that was volunteered and goes on to further explain what this section of the course will entail. There's not much to learn at this point, but it is still interesting. At the end of the class, while everyone is packing up, Mr Wilkinson calls for everyone's attention.

"Before you all leave; our class has been invited to go on a small trip to Arkham Asylum as part of the Criminal Psychology unit." I look up, intrigued by the chance to actually meet the kind of people we will be studying. "If you are interested in participating, please collect a letter on your way out. You will need your parents' permission, and I will warn you that it will likely be a stressful trip. It is focused on your education, not your enjoyment, and you may hear, see or experience things that make you uncomfortable or upset." The bell rings, and I make my way to the front of the class to collect a letter.

I slam my bedroom door shut and throw my bag onto my bed, soon following it. Cushioned by blankets, pillows and my duvet, I let myself relax. New things are always stressful, and today was full of new things: school, classes, students, teachers. But it's over now. At least for a day. Rolling onto my back I pull my tie off and toss it onto my bedside table; my shirt goes into my laundry basket. I dig about in my drawers until I find an old knitted pullover. I put it on, revelling in the soft comfort of it. I fall back onto my bed and curl up. I wonder what Bruce is doing just now. Probably homework, like the good studious boy he is. I don't know why he comes to mind now. Maybe he's starting to grow on me. He is endearing, in his own awkward way. He's quietly confident, and somehow quietly nervous as well. Maybe I should talk to him properly tomorrow. Suddenly, I remember the letter, and the trip. Reaching over, I pull it out of my bag crumpled, but still intact. Finding a pen, I forge my mother's signature; I don't know if they would let me go, but I don't want to risk it. This is what I want to do with my life. I want to try and figure out what makes people tick, and it's far more challenging when those people are criminals; far more challenging and far more rewarding. I just find it fascinating, how people can be so different despite being made from the same raw materials. The difficulty in distinguishing what is happening inside a person's head, why they do what they do. Is it nature or nurture? There are arguments for both. I want to be the person to find the truth, or at least part of it. But it's not just about the minds. I want to help people, people who have been forsaken by society and treated as dirt. So many people who commit violent acts do it not out of choice, but out of necessity; out of fear, danger, desperation. It's not fair that because of bad luck or someone else's actions they should be punished or feared. I want to change that.


	4. French Homework

Far too early on a Saturday morning, I am woken up by the shrill ring of the telephone. I groan and roll over to bury my face into my pillows. Raising my head slightly, I peer at the clock sitting on my bedside table. Quarter to eight. Considering I didn't go to bed until three o'clock, this is absolutely horrible. I hear the phone being answered and allow myself to relax. It's probably a work call for my mother. Just as I am about to drift off back to sleep, I hear a sharp knocking at my door. I guess it's not for my mother. Dragging myself out of bed I check that I am decent, then I open the door and poke my head out. It's my father.

"Bruce Wayne is on the phone for you, darling." He gives a tired smile and returns to his room. I grab a jumper and walk to the phone, taking a breath before I pick it up.

"Hey Bruce, what's up?"

"Hi. I was just wondering if you wanted to come over to mine tonight?" Confused, I begin to ask why when he continues, "I heard that you were taking French, and I was wondering if you wanted to do some studying together?"

"Sure," French is one of those subjects that needs practical revision, and Bruce is better than nothing, "What time?"

"Seven? Alfred can come and pick you up if you like…" I stop him there.

"It's fine. I'll make my own way there. What's the address?"

Wayne Manor is imposing to say the least. I thought our house was large, but this is massive. It is quite excessive for just Bruce and his butler. The night is clear, the moon lighting my way up the drive. The gravel crunches under my feet as I walk towards the front door. Ringing the door bell, I shift the bag sitting heavily on my shoulders. Despite everything, I am nervous. Alone with Bruce Wayne, in his house, studying French. Who knows what will happen?

We sit either side of a coffee table next to a roaring fire. French textbooks, notes and dictionaries are spread across the table, and I focus on Bruce's speech in my hands.

"Again." He runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath, before starting again. This time he manages to get halfway through until he messes up. I refuse to be sympathetic, stopping him short. "Look, let's take a break. Get something to drink and then we'll come back to it later."

"Okay," He stands and stretches. "Do you want anything?"

"Just some water, thanks." He leaves, and I lean back into the plush couch. The fire wraps me in warmth, allowing me to relax. Until I hear the window open, and soft, quiet footsteps entering the room. I sit up and stare at the girl in front of me.

"Who the hell are you?" The intruder asks, and I gape in shock.

"That's good coming from you!" I stand up, taking a slightly defensive stance against her aggressive one.

"I'm friends with Bruce." She seems to relax slightly, but I can tell she is ready to pounce at any moment.

"So that's why you're coming in through the window?" I question, "Because you're such good friends?"

"The butler doesn't exactly approve of me," She shrugs. "I'm Selina."

"Harleen. I go to school with Bruce." I begin to let my guard down, knowing that Bruce will be back soon.

"What sort of a name is Harleen?" She scoffs.

"What sort of a name is Selina?" I bite back. I hear the door open and we both turn towards it. Bruce enters with two glasses of water and a plate of cookies. His eyes widen at the two of us standing there, and he stutters to explain. "Your friend, Bruce?"

"Y-Yeah," He manages to get out, and I turn back to face her. "Selina Kyle, Harleen Quinzel. Harleen, Selina." We nod at each other.

"I guess my name is a bit more… unique." I admit. She grins.

"I can agree with that."

I do not realise how late it is until the clock above the fire chimes eleven. We have been sitting, talking and eating for hours, French revision abandoned on the table. Selina and Bruce have been telling me about all of their "adventures" since they met. It seems that since Bruce's parents died his life has been full of danger; kidnapping, attacks, threats and plenty of near-death experiences. It all sounds so exciting and is completely different from the stories I expected from Bruce. Looking at the clock on the wall, then down at my watch, I stand up. I suddenly realise that I am near exhausted.

"I should probably go," I say as I stretch my stiff limbs. "Thanks for all the help revising Bruce." I smirk at him, and he smiles back.

"Alfred will give you a lift, if you like."

"It's fine, I can make my own way home." I begin packing away my books and notes.

"It's after eleven, Harleen." I can tell he is about to insist on Alfred taking me home when Selina interrupts.

"I'll walk with you." She stands up to join me. "Protect you from all the big bad men." We grin at each other, and Bruce sighs.

"Okay, just call me when you get home." He tells me, and I nod. I turn to Selina.

"So, out the window?"

Selina and I walk in comfortable silence down the streets of Gotham. Despite only knowing each other for a few hours I can already feel some kind of friendship forming, or at least trust. A siren goes off in the distance and Selina glances towards me. I assume she was expecting some kind of reaction. But I'm used to being out late at night, used to the sound of sirens or fighting, used to the danger. I guess she must be too. I look at her from the corner of my eye, then ask:

"So, how long have you been on the streets?" I attempt to gauge her reaction, but her face remains like stone. "Sorry, I just-"

"Since I was a kid." She responds. "What about you?"

"W-What?" I'm surprised by the question. She must have known from the moment we met that I'm an upper class kid like Bruce.

"You're clearly used to being out at night. You haven't jumped or even flinched the whole walk. So, how long have you been sneaking out to the streets?"

"14, I guess."

"Do you enjoy your little sight-seeing trips?" She sounds angry. "Enjoy getting to play the criminal but knowing you have a home to go to at the end of the night? Knowing that if you're tired, or sick, you can just stay in bed?"

"Selina," I stop walking and turn to look at her. She stops as well but refuses to look at me. "I am not trying to pretend I'm like you. I get that I'm lucky, that I have a home to go to. I get that I will never understand your life. But I need a way to escape, and doing ... what I do is the only way I can." It's most of the truth, but she would never understand my addiction to the danger. So I don't tell her.

"Okay," she's still angry, but at least she's not close to killing me anymore. "But don't forget what you have. Don't forget what you could be giving up."

"I know." We keep walking.


	5. Arkham

The sound of sirens is comforting, familiar. Despite this, despite being back in Gotham, I am not happy. This is not my home anymore. This is the home of a child, a girl who knew nothing of the world. I am not her. She never knew what people could do. How they could lie, how they could hurt. She found out eventually. It was inevitable I guess. Living in Gotham, no one's innocence lasts for long. Sometimes I wish that I'd stayed that sweet young girl with stars in her eyes. But that's in the past. What's done is done, and I am who I am. All that I can do is move forward.

The tiles of the roof scratch at my hands as I stretch back. My family are asleep in the house, so I am out here. Watching the world go by. After what Selina said I cannot bring myself to go out into the city. I can't indulge myself. It feels childish, almost selfish now. Maybe she's right. Maybe I am flaunting my status, my security. I guess I am. But not to hurt anyone. It's for me, and no one else. She doesn't understand, doesn't realise, and I'm not about to try and explain it to her.

From where I'm sitting I can see Arkham. It stands dark and tall, seeming to emit a strange green glow. I can only imagine the people in there, psychopaths, murderers, cannibals. I remember reading about the breakout a few years ago. It was all over the news, even in New York. Five high profile criminals escaping and wreaking havoc all over the city. If only something like that would happen now; it would be great fun.

The seat of the school bus rumbles beneath me. The journey is anything but smooth, the bus seeming to hit every pothole in the road. There are only ten of us on the bus, plus the teacher and the driver. With all the concerned parents and fearful students, I'm shocked that there's that many of us. Most parents didn't want to risk their children going to Arkham for some strange reason. Maybe it was the cost, or the dangerous roads. Or maybe the dangerous psychotic criminals we would be meeting. Yeah, probably that. We were given a uniform outline, even stricter than the normal one; so I am wearing a knee-length skirt and a cardigan over my shirt. Considering the people we are going to meet, I don't mind. I would rather not end up the target of some psychopath. I glance around at the others on the bus. Everyone seems nervous, even the teacher, but I am strangely calm. It's a secure, controlled environment. We'll all be fine. Besides, I doubt the staff will allow us within fifty feet of anyone remotely dangerous. Arkham has had enough bad press as it is; they don't want any students being horribly traumatised on a school trip. As we drive through the gate the building looms over us ominously, like a beast just waiting for us to enter. We take a breath as one, and slowly begin to leave the bus.

The screaming can be heard as soon as we arrive. It's awful. Full of pain, anguish, despair. Anger. Even I am apprehensive as we wait silently at the reception. The girl standing next to me is shifting on her feet. She's nervous. We all are. Now we're here, the reality has fully hit us. Arkham is a prison, full of fear and danger. Of monsters and murderers.

Mr Wilkinson gathers us together, and a women dressed in a simple suit stands in front of us.

"Welcome, everyone, to Arkham Asylum. I hope you understand the serious nature of this visit. This is not an "enjoyable" experience. Rather, you are here to learn and enhance your learning to potentially go forward into a career in Psychology. I am Doctor Thomas, one of the therapists here, and I will be taking you on your tour of the Asylum today."

She turns around and, gesturing for us to follow, walks through a door and down a corridor. We move as one. The corridors twist and turn, and we walk up a flight of stairs until we stop outside of a door marked 'Common Room'. Doctor Thomas turns around and clasps her hands in front of her. "In a moment we will walk past the inmates' common area. This is where they spend time day to day when not in their cells or doing chores. Here, you will have your first encounter with the criminally insane. This is not something to take lightheartedly. Do not make eye contact or communicate with the prisoners. We will observe for a minute, and then move on. Do you all understand?" We nod and murmur agreement. This is it. The moment we've all been waiting for. When we step through that door, everything will change. I wonder if I'll recognise any of the people in there. I hear the shrill sound of the buzzer indicating the door is unlocked, and we step through into another world.

The prisoners wait only a second after we enter before they begin jeering and shouting at us. We are separated from them by a metal fence, but it feels as though they could pounce on us at any moment. Despite the doctor's instructions I peer at the fence and the people beyond it out of the corner of my eye. There are only a few women, the room dominated by deranged men who glare at us as if they would tear us apart with one chance. My hands automatically clench into fists, a defense mechanism from late nights and dark alleyways. I'm not afraid, not quite, but I am uncomfortable. I don't want to let them think I'm scared, so I stand up straight, jaw clenched, and attempt to give off an air of fearlessness. The girl next to me is shaking slightly. Usually I would scoff at her, but instead I gently rest a hand on her arm in an attempt to comfort her. I can understand why you would be afraid just now. The doctor is watching us, gauging our reactions. I hope I have surprised her.

After the common room we are taken to an interview room, and we have the opportunity to ask Doctor Thomas any questions about the asylum, the patients, and the treatments. The questions are fairly typical: How long have you worked here, what's difficult about it, is it ever scary? And the doctor's answers are exactly as I expected: Since it reopened, working with people that don't always cooperate, yes but the guards are well trained. While the others ask their questions I deliberate. Should I stay quiet, or should I shock her? I eventually conclude that I have nothing to lose, and I raise my hand.

"Yes?" Doctor Thomas points at me, and I try not to smile.

"Do you ever feel sympathetic towards the patients?" Her eyes widen and she opens and closes her mouth a couple of time, grasping for words.

"Well, to a certain extent but… Well, they are criminals, despite their mental health issues."

"But surely you have to consider that they have not chosen to be the way they are?" I respond, not giving her the time to move on.

"Yes, of course we do." And on she goes. I can tell she doesn't have a good answer for me, and I smile smugly to myself.

We are supposed to be returning to the reception, following the doctor through the staff corridors, when a guard jogs up to us.

"I'm sorry Doctor, but we've had an issue with some of the inmates. The corridor has been closed off further down." The doctor nods.

"Do you need any assistance?"

"I think that could help, if you were there they might feel less threatened."

"Of course. If you could take the group to reception through cell block F, I will go and help out." She smiles and bids us goodbye then swiftly turns around and walks away from us. We follow the guard in the opposite direction.

We are walking past rows of cells, voices bleeding from behind the solid doors. The guard walks in front of us and we hurry behind. No one wants to stay here longer than we have to. Suddenly we hear shouting from ahead, and the guard stops.

"Wait here," he tells us, and before we can protest he continues. "It's perfectly safe, just don't talk to anyone." He then jogs away, leaving us alone. We are silent for a minute until a voice whispers from my left.

"Hey kids."

I tense and stay still, watching the others to see if any of them react. When no one looks around, I assume I'm just hearing things.

"Rude." I definitely heard something, and the boy in front of me takes a sharps breath in. Someone is talking to us. I turn my head slowly, trying to find the source of the noise. Almost directly to my left the grate in a door is open, light pouring out. We all look at each other, wondering if anyone will dare answer. Realising no one else will do anything, I take a small step forward.

"What do you want?" The group takes a breath in as one as we wait for an answer.

"Just a bit of fun," The voice responds, and I can tell it's a man. Part of me recognises it, but I don't know where from. "Not often we get outsiders here, and no one ever talks to us."

"Won't be for long," I say. I can't see him, but I'm intrigued. "We're going soon."

"I doubt it. The guards will probably forget about you and leave you here with us crazies." He lets out a rasping laugh, and I begin to suspect.

"Very funny." Part of me wants the guard to come back, just to give me an excuse to leave. But a different part wants to keep talking. Suddenly a face appears at the window, and I take a sharp breath. Jerome Valeska. His face is scarred, the skin pulled back tight, but it's clearly him. I remember reading about him, everything he did after killing his mother.

"Aw, you scared?" He grins, his mouth stretching unnaturally wide.

"No, just wasn't expecting you to be quite so deformed." I snap back, not wanting him to see me as a victim.

"I'm hurt!" He feigns being upset and I roll my eyes. All at once he narrows his eyes and leans forward, getting as close to me as he can. "Hey, do I know you?"

"No," there's a tremor in my voice, and I'm not sure whether it's from fear or anticipation. "We've never met."

"I guess not," He moves back slightly, and I relax slightly. "I'm sure I would remember a face like yours."

I hear footsteps and move away from the door as the guard approaches. I give one last glance to Jerome, who grins and whispers something just to me before disappearing into his cell. I can feel the eyes of the group on me, but I ignore them and instead follow the guard as he leads us to the reception, and to freedom.

Slamming the front door shut, I lock it behind me before heading upstairs. I take off my cardigan and perch on the bench next to my window, looking out into the garden. Seeing Jerome at Arkham has shaken me. I wasn't prepared for it, for him to speak to us. I can't believe I talked to him like I did. I know Arkham's secure, but in the back of my mind I wonder what would happen if he escaped again. Who he would go for. Bruce probably, he seems obsessed with him. But what he whispered is sticking with me, and I can't stop thinking about it and what it could mean.

"See you later doll."


	6. Blood and Dreams

"Shit!"  
I yelp as I hit the rough ground, scraping my hands and knees. I can't stop, so I force myself to stand up and keep running. I can hear the men shouting behind me as I run through the twisting alleyways. I know I can't outrun them, but I hope I can lose them in the maze of streets. I glance behind me, and in that moment I ruin straight into Selina Kyle.  
"Whoa!" She grabs my arms, steadying me on my feet. "Harleen? What are you doing?"  
"Can't talk, bye!" I attempt to run round her, but her grip on my arms tighten.  
"What's happening?" She looks over my shoulder and her eyes widen. I glance behind me and see the men that were chasing me. They look even angrier than before. "Get behind me."  
"Selina-"  
"Just get behind me and stay back, okay?!" I nod and step past her, putting her between myself and the group of men slowly approaching. They're all taller than six-foot, and built like brick walls. I don't know what Selina's going to do but I hope for both our sakes it works.  
"Aw look, the kid's protecting her little friend," One of them jeers, and I watch Selina out of the corner of my eye.  
"Look, leave us alone and you won't get hurt," She warns. I see her hand edge towards her belt.  
"Yeah, like that's gonna happen." The guy at the front takes a step and all hell breaks loose. A whip appears in Selina's hand seemingly out of nowhere, and the first of the group is thrown onto the ground. The rest run at Selina, who moves faster than I could possibly imagine. She tosses one guy into two others, knocking them all into the wall. When the other two reach her she kicks one hard in the chest and wraps her whip around the neck of the other, pulling him towards her before elbowing him in the face and letting him drop to the ground. The first guy tries to grab her from behind, but she ducks under his arms and hooks her leg around his pulling him down. I watch her with wide eyes as she somehow manages to take down all six of them in the space of less than two minutes. Once she's done she turns around, moving towards me.  
"Thanks."  
"What happened?" She asks and I look away, embarrassed.  
"I was just out and one of them whistled at me, so I…"  
"I thought you weren't going to do this anymore!" She almost yells at me. "You could have gotten yourself killed."  
"I know but," I struggle to find the words to explain. The need to escape my home, my life, to forget about everything. After Arkham I need to justify my paranoia, my fear. The only way I can do that is on the streets. "Look, I don't feel safe at home and-"  
"Oh, because late night Gotham is so much better?"  
"At least my fear's justified when I'm out here," I tell here. She just looks at me, then takes my hands and turns them over. I wince at the sight. They are bloody and covered in dirt and gravel. My knees are probably the same, and I begin to feel the sting and burn of the cuts.  
"Come on," she says walking past me, "Let's get you cleaned up."

I'm sitting in Selina's apartment. It's dark and messy, but it's better than nothing and could be a whole lot worse. Selina is hunting for a first aid kit while I sit and wait. I'm glad I ran into her – quite literally. She's right, I could have gotten seriously hurt, or worse. I can't believe what she managed to do. I knew that she was smart and tough, but watching her fight like that - it was unbelievable. I wonder who taught her. The sting of my hands has dulled to a deep ache. Selina walks into the room, bandages, antiseptic and cotton in her hands. She walks over and sits next to me. I offer her my hands, and she takes one. Slowly and carefully she begins to clean the cuts and scrapes, then wraps my hand up with a bandage. She moves onto the other hand, and then my knees. By the time she's done I can see the faint glow of dawn through the windows.  
"Thank you-"  
"Don't worry about it." She stands up and walks over to one of the windows, peering out past the ragged curtain.  
"No, seriously." I stand behind her, but still keeping my distance. "If it weren't for you, I don't know what would have happened." She looks at me over her shoulder.  
"You better go. Don't want your parents to wake up and find you missing." I nod and move towards the door. Before I can reach it someone opens it from the other side. A tall woman with dark hair dressed all in black walks in and stops at the sight of me. I freeze.  
"Selina?" She asks, never taking her eyes off me. "Who's this?"  
"A friend," She replies, and I blink in astonishment. I didn't expect that. "She got in a bit of trouble. She's leaving."  
"Your friend got a name?" She takes a step towards me, but I refuse to back down.  
"Harleen," I tell her, and she smirks down at me. "I was just leaving."  
"Tabitha," She offers a hand, and I shake it. "I'll see you later." I nod and walk past her out of the door.

I managed to climb through my window just as my mother's alarm went off. I scramble into bed, pulling the covers over me so that only my head is visible. I turn away from the door and close my eyes, feigning sleep. I hear the door open quietly and my mother pokes her head in. I try to keep my breathing slow and even, and once she closes the door I let out a sigh of relief. Sliding out of bed I change from my skirt into cotton shorts and a pullover, leaving my top on underneath. It's a Saturday morning so I simply climb back into bed and close my eyes, hoping for at least a couple hours of sleep. After turning a few times, trying to find a comfortable position, I slowly begin to drift off.

 _I can hear laughing and music. Bright lights flash all around me. I can smell hot food, and animals, and sweat. I'm surrounded by people, all pushing and shoving, hurrying to nowhere. I'm being spun around. I can't tell where I am. I twist and turn, trying to escape. I burst out from the crowd and fall over my own feet, landing on my hands and knees. The ground underneath is dusty and covered in straw. Looking up I see that I am in a brightly lit circus tent. The seats are empty, and the roar of the crowd outside is dulled to a murmur. Standing up, I brush off my dress. I shiver, both from the cold and the eeriness of the empty tent. I walk forward into the centre of the tent and turn in a circle looking for a way out. The place I fell from is a solid curtain. I guess I'm not going back that way. I hear whispering from behind me and spin around, looking for the person. No one is there. I notice an opening in the wall of the tent, with light shining through it. I can feel a presence standing behind me and I run forward, not caring where I end up. Anywhere is better than here.  
Pushing through the heavy curtains, I look around. The hall of mirrors. I take a few steps forward and look at my reflection. I'm younger, maybe thirteen. Blonde curls fall down my back past my waist. My dress is pink and made of a light, floaty fabric. It almost reaches my knees. Wrapping my arms around myself I turn around and begin to look for the way out. The curtains I came through have disappeared, so the only way is forward. I walk slowly, keeping one hand on the mirrors next to me so I don't get lost. Every turn, every corner just leads deeper into the maze, but I know that if I keep going I have to get out eventually. The longer I spend here, the closer the presence from the tent gets. It almost feels as though it's pressing up against my back. My breathing is shaky. I'm terrified. I hear a crack and the mirror next to me explodes into a million shards. I scream and fall to the ground, trying to cover my face. The glass cuts into my skin but I don't feel it. Looking up the mirror is gone, replaced by a solid black wall. I stand up, my feet crunching on the broken glass covering the ground. Stepping backwards I feel myself press against another mirror. I stop and breathe, my whole body shaking.  
"Why so scared?" A voice whispers in my ear. I run. I don't even think about trying to find the exit, just wanting to get away from whoever is following me. I can feel footsteps behind me, walking but still keeping pace with me. I glance over my shoulder and see a flash of ginger hair in a mirror. No. He can't be here. "Why are you running?" He calls, and I push myself to run faster. I can't let him catch me. "You know you can't escape me." Turning a corner I see the exit and I run through it. The cold night air hits me. It's later, and the circus is almost empty. The door to the hall of mirrors slams shut behind me. I let out a sigh of relief, thinking I'm safe. Looking around I see a small caravan ahead of me. There's nowhere else to go so I walk towards it. Something about it is familiar, but I can't explain what. As I get closer I hear shouting coming from inside. The door slams open, banging against the wall of the caravan before swinging back. Jerome walks out, but he's different. Younger, his hair neatly brushed and parted. His face whole. He's wearing jeans, a checked shirt, and a dark blue sweater. Something pulls me towards him. I need to talk to him, to comfort him. I remember what his mother did to him, and I need to make it better. He walks around to the other side of the caravan and I follow. I find him sitting on a bench.  
"Are you okay?" I know he isn't, but I can't stop the words coming out of my mouth. He looks up at me, his eyes both sad and angry.  
"I think I should be asking you that," he says, and I look down at my bloody arms and dress. I forgot about that.  
"I'm fine. It doesn't even hurt." I sit down next to him cautiously.  
"What do you want?" He asks, and I shrug.  
"I just wanted to help, but-" I don't know what to say. I don't know what I'm doing, or why I'm doing it.  
"Aren't you freezing?" He interrupts, and a shiver runs through my body. The cold night air has sunk deep into my bones. I nod. "Here." He takes off his pullover and hands it to me.  
"I can't-"  
"Take it." He pushes it into my hands, smiling at me. I smile back and pull it over my head. I look down at myself, straightening it. But when I look up the sweet and hurt boy I was talking to had been replaced by a monster. The face I expected and recognised grinned back at me. I freeze, a look of horror upon my face. "Are you scared?" He asks, leaning forward until I can feel his breath on my face, "Scared of little old me? I thought you liked me for a moment there." I run. My feet pound across the grass and dirt, mirroring the pounding of my heart. I'm running into blackness but anything is better than Jerome. Suddenly I feel hands wrap around my waist and spin me around. I scream._

I sit bolt upright in my bed, panting. I look down at the pullover, the same pullover he gave me all those years ago. Somebody grabs onto my shoulders and I scream again, fighting against the intruder.  
"Harleen!" I recognise the voice. Calming for a second, I see Bruce standing next to my bed. "Your dad let me in. What's wrong?"  
"Jerome," I tell him and his eyes widen.  
"Jerome Valeska?" I nod.  
"I met him at Arkham, but-" I look down at myself again, grabbing at the pullover and taking it off. "He gave me this, when we first met."  
"You've met him before?" Bruce looks shocked and almost horrified.  
"When I was twelve. I got separated from my parents at the circus, and I was terrified. I ended up at his caravan, and when he came storming out he saw me. He helped me. A few weeks later we found out that he murdered his mother." I look up at Bruce, staring right into his eyes. "That's why we left Gotham." Bruce just looks at me.  
"Did he recognise you?" He finally asks.  
"I think so, but I lied. I'm not sure if he believed me." I wonder whether I should tell him what else Jerome said. I suppose Bruce is the only person I can honestly talk to just now. My family won't believe me, and I wouldn't be able to find Selina. "He told me something before I left, and… and I'm terrified."  
"What did he say?" Bruce leans closer, resting his hand on mine.  
"He said he'd 'See me later'. What if he breaks out?"  
"He won't, Arkham's secure now-"  
"That's what they thought last time!" I know I'm being irrational, but I can't help the voice in the back of my mind telling me that Jerome is coming.  
"If Jerome does escape, the GCPD will protect us. And we'll protect each other." Bruce wraps me in a hug, and for once I let myself be vulnerable and I hug him back.


	7. The Fight Begins

Bruce's fist comes flying towards my face. I manage to dodge under it at the last second and attempt to return the blow, aiming at his chest. He deflects it and aims a kick at my stomach. It knocks the air out of me, and I stumble backwards a few steps. The next punch Bruce throws at me I grab his arm, pulling it past my body. I hook one leg around his ankle, pulling him to the ground, but he grabs my arm pulling me down with him. I land next to him, hitting my elbow off of the ground.  
"Okay, I'm done," I roll over onto my back, panting in exhaustion. He laughs next to me before standing up and offering me a hand, helping me stand up next to him. I walk over to the table at the side of the room and grab my bottle of water, taking a few deep mouthfuls. Bruce comes over and does the same. We are both dressed in workout clothes and practically dripping in sweat. Ever since he found out about Jerome we've been training together, working so we would be able to protect ourselves. Bruce has been training for years with Alfred so he beats me pretty much every time, but I'm slowly getting better. The cuts on my hands and knees have healed, but they were quickly replaced by more scrapes and bruises than I can count. The one on my elbow is just the most recent. I hear the door swing open and turn around to see Alfred walking in.  
"I thought the two of you might be wanting some lunch?" He asks, and I exchange a look with Bruce before nodding. "Right. I'll get something sorted for you." He gives a quick smile and leaves. I turn to Bruce and run a hand through my hair. It's greasy and soaked with sweat.  
"Do you mind if I grab a quick shower?" Bruce nods.  
"Sure, let me show you." He walks past me out of the room and I follow him. Up a flight of stairs and down a couple of corridors, we stop outside a luxurious bathroom. "There's shampoo and stuff in there, and some spare clothes in the dresser."  
"Thanks," I smile and go into the bathroom, closing and locking the door as he walks away. I stretch one arm into the shower and turn it on, waiting for the water to reach the right temperature before taking off my clothes. I step into the shower and let the hot water pour over me. It soothes my aching muscles and calms me. In the weeks since Arkham I haven't been able to relax. From fear, from anticipation. Jerome's promise haunts me every time I close my eyes, and I wonder if he'll keep it if he does escape. Bruce says we'll be safe, but he has to know that Jerome will stop at nothing to get what he wants. I shake my head, spraying water around me. I can't let a single sentence get to me. After washing my hair and body I turn off the water and get out of the shower. I wrap a towel around my body and grab another for my hair. After drying my hair until it is damp rather than soaking, I grab a t-shirt and leggings and get dressed. I leave my hair loose and tangled over one shoulder and leave to find lunch.

Bruce and I sit in one of the many lounges after lunch, each of us reclining on a couch with a book in our hands. I am studying for English while Bruce is researching whatever investigation he's on now. The television is playing quietly in the background as we sit in comfortable silence. I turn the page, read the first few words, and sigh in boredom, closing the book and dropping it into my lap. I turn my attention to the television. The news is playing, a blonde man in a suit talking about the economic crisis. Fascinating. I lean back on the couch and close my eyes, trying to relax. The news moves on, and he begins talking about something 'extremely dangerous'. I try to zone it out. Extreme danger is nothing new in Gotham, so I let myself relax. That is, I relax until I hear Bruce jump up from his seat.  
"Harleen!" He calls, and I open my eyes to glare at him. I stop when I see his face, and follow his finger to look at the television. A picture of Arkham Asylum is being shown, and the reporter is talking about a breakout. I sit up and pay attention, watching silently.  
"A number of criminals have escaped. The police have warned that all of these criminals are highly dangerous and should not be approached at any cost." While he is talking a series of mugshots are shown, identifying the criminals. I recognise a few of the names, but none of the images until the last. When Jerome appears on the screen I jump up and grab Bruce's arm. He escaped. I knew this would happen. He probably orchestrated the whole thing. I can feel myself shaking. I can hear Bruce talking but it's just white noise. I let go of Bruce and leave the room. At first I'm walking but I speed up until I'm running out of the front door.

I lay in bed thinking. The phone is ringing, and I'm sure it's Bruce, but I can't talk to him just now. Thoughts are flying around my head. What is he going to do? No matter what the whole city is in danger. He's probably forgotten about me. We only talked for a couple of minutes, and I doubt he could see me properly. He just wanted to frighten me. At least that's what I tell myself. He's more likely to go for Bruce. But there's still a voice in the back of my head telling me that any minute he could climb in through my window and kill me, or kidnap me, or worse. A shiver crawls up my spine as I imagine what he might do. I am afraid, but part of me almost wants him to find me. To come face to face with him again with nothing between us; just the idea is exhilarating. But the rational, logical part of me knows that if I meet Jerome again I likely will not survive.


	8. School's Out

Despite the criminals roaming the city and the fact that my life is in danger, I am at school. "Scary bad guys" wouldn't cut it with my parents, and there's no way I'm going to tell them about Arkham. So here I am, sitting in a closed off corner of the library attempting to finish my homework for the next class. But I can't concentrate. Every sound makes me jump, every voice makes me look over my shoulder. I haven't seen Bruce today. I guess Alfred let him stay at home. Even though past experience has proved that Wayne Manor is clearly no safer than anywhere else in Gotham. I go to copy a note from the textbook in front of me, and my pencil breaks. I groan in frustration, in anger, and throw my pencil to the side. Shoving my books into my bag I stand up, done with my homework. Mr Anders will get what I've done, and he can deal with that himself. I head out of the library and am walking down the stairs when I hear it. Shouting. Screaming. Gunshots. I turn around and run up the stairs instead of down. It could be any one of the countless criminals in Gotham but my heart is still racing. Of course being afraid is completely logical in this situation. I know that no matter who it is I should be afraid. Reaching the top of the school I look around the busy corridors, trying to figure out what's happening. Everyone's panicking, running in all directions. I try to push through, heading for the fire escape. If I can reach it then I can get to the back of the school in a minute and then I can escape through the side gates. But I am swept up in the crowd of panicked students. No one will let me past. I can hear more gunshots from downstairs, and they're getting closer. The corridor reaches a standstill, nowhere for us to go. I spin in a circle, looking desperately for a friendly face, but I am surrounded by strangers. Gunshots at the entry to the stairwell make everyone scream, and we all turn to see who has been hit. The victim is the ceiling. Standing at the doors is one of the escapees, a rifle pointed into the air. Everyone is silent.

"Everyone! Downstairs now! Go to the cafeteria!" He yells.

"Or what?" A voice from within the crowd shouts back, stupidly brave. A gunshot silences him. A couple of screams and yelps come from the people around his now dead body. I guess that's enough of a warning. We all start to move slowly towards the stairs. I keep my head down, not making eye contact with anyone. I don't want to be any more noticeable than I have to be. I clench my fists in an attempt to stop them from shaking. Fear is slowly taking over my body. Not knowing what is going to happen is killing me. Potentially literally.

The whole school, students and teachers alike, have been funnelled into the cafeteria. We're sitting at tables and on the floor, waiting for something. Or someone. I'm sitting against a wall staring at my hands, straining to hear anything the men are saying. All I can hear is something about "finding the boy" and "he'll be here soon". If it's the "he" I'm thinking of, then the "the boy" is Bruce. I scan the room, trying to catch any sight of Bruce, but I can't see him. Hopefully, he isn't here. But what that means for us, I don't know. I doubt they'll just let us go home without a scratch. They've already killed at least one student, probably more.

The doors slam open, making me jump slightly. A sinister laugh enters, one we all recognise, and its owner soon follows. Jerome. I slide my back down the wall and lower my head so that my hair covers my face. I want to make myself as small and unnoticeable as possible.

"So, I'm going to cut to the chase," He's waving his gun around haphazardly. He steps up onto a table in the middle of the room before continuing. "I'm looking for Bruce Wayne. Yeah, I know what you're thinking: "Again Jerome? Why not give up?" Well, when I make a decision I follow through with that decision. It's a good code for life, wouldn't you agree?" He points his gun at a teacher, who rapidly nods in agreement. Jerome grins at him, his face full of darkness and danger. He leaps off of the table, surprisingly graceful, and begins to stroll around the room. He's looking for Bruce. He won't find him, I know that. But he doesn't. And he'll do what he wants and kill who he wants until he finds him. After circling the room Jerome stops near the doors where he began, across the room from where I am sitting. "I guess little Brucie must be hiding. Or maybe he's just not here. So I'll need to ask." He looks around him, at the frightened students avoiding eye contact. "You." He points, and one of his cronies steps forward, grabbing the arm of a freshman girl and dragging her towards Jerome. She whimpers as he slowly and deliberately raises his gun so it is pointing directly at her head. "Where. Is. Bruce. Wayne?"

The girl shakes her head, close to tears. She doesn't know. No one can tell him.

"I'll ask you, one more time," He takes a step closer, pressing the barrel of the gun against her head. She lets out a sob.

"She doesn't know." Before I can process what's happening, I'm standing up. I'm an idiot. I'm going to get myself killed. But still, better me than her, right? Jerome turns his head and looks at me, his face slowly pulling into a grin. He pulls the gun away from the girl's head and gestures to the guy holding her, who throws her to the ground. Jerome takes a few steps towards me and gestures for me to come closer. I stay still.

"Well look who it is? You know, I thought it was going to be harder to find you. Who would have thought you were going to come forward so willingly?"

"Bruce isn't here," I ignore him, refusing to give in to his little game. "He isn't stupid enough to come into school."

"Unlike you?"

"Parents, what can you do?" I shrug, trying to contain a small smile.

He lets out a cackle, throwing his whole body back in glee. My shoulders tense. The people around me flinch but I try and remain as unafraid as possible.

"You're quite something aren't you?" He begins to stride towards me and I instinctively step backwards, my back pressing up against the wall. He comes closer until our chests are almost touching, and I can feel his breath on my face. I refuse to close my eyes or look away, staring straight at him. I can't tell what colour his eyes are. One second they're green, the next blue. I try and focus on the current threat to my life, rather than thinking about what colour Jerome's eyes are. Priorities, Harleen, priorities.

"So..." He drags it out, almost certainly for the sole reason of making everyone in the room suffer. "What would you say if I asked you to call little old Bruce and get him to come out here, huh?"

"I'd probably tell you to fuck off," I tell him unabashedly, and he cackles again.

"You're a brave one, aren't you." All of a sudden the air turns cold and his grin sharpens into something more sinister. "And what would you say," He lifts up his gun and holds the barrel under my chin, pushing my head back as far as it will go, "If I told you I was going to shoot you if you didn't do what I wanted."

Every cell in my body is burning, adrenaline running through my veins like a drug. The cold metal against my skin is the only thing I can focus on, that and Jerome's body pressed against mine. I know I should be terrified, but instead, I am filled with anticipation. I want to know what he would do if I said no. But I don't want him to know that. I glare at him as best I can with my head tipped back. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He grins impossibly wider and somehow leans in closer.

"So, does that mean you'll help me?"

"You'll just kill Bruce and then kill me," I spit back, trying to stall for time. "No matter what, I end up dead, so why not just cut out the middleman?"

"No, no," he whispers, "The last thing I want to do is kill you. You don't need to worry about that." He removes the gun from under my chin, letting my head fall back down, and holds it just next to my head. "But, if you get in the way of me getting what I want, then some very unpleasant things will happen." I shudder, and he feels it. He lets out a sharp, harsh laugh, taking a step back. Finally, I can breathe. He goes to speak but is interrupted by sirens. Blue and red lights flash outside, flooding the room. Someone is speaking on a megaphone, but the blood rushing in my ears deafens me to the words being said. Before I can realise what's happening, someone's hand is wrapped around my arm and I am being dragged across the room. I can hear shouting, but my mind is blank. I am pulled through the door and along corridors, surrounded by Jerome's thugs. I don't struggle, I can't, so I just let myself run in whatever direction I am guided. I know I should fight, I know I shouldn't give in, but I want to go. I don't want to get hurt, I want to warn Bruce, but I want to see what will happen. We slam through a fire exit, setting off the alarm, but it just blends in with the noise encompassing the school. Down a back alley, hidden from the police, I am thrown into the back of a van. A blindfold is tied haphazardly around my eyes, my hands are bound, and the doors are slammed before we drive off, faster than I could have imagined. We turn a corner and I slide into someone. They grab onto my shoulders and laugh. Jerome leans in and whispers into my ear: "We're going to have so much fun."


	9. Bad Choices, Worse Consequences

I have no idea how long we're driving for. All I know is we're going fast and no one is speaking. I can feel Jerome's presence, the rasp of his breathing, his eyes staring at me. After the first sharp turn I've given in to the movement of the van, not caring where or when I slide. I stay silent, regardless of the sounds outside the van. Police sirens, shouting, screaming, tires skidding. I am powerless. And I am loving every minute of it. This is what I have been craving since I can't remember. My whole life I have been safe, protected, coddled. Now I have been thrown into the lap of danger; and I never want to leave. My mind is screaming at me, screaming that I should be terrified, that I should be fighting, that none of this is good. I should be worried for myself, for my family, for Bruce. But no. My body, my instinct, has decided that if this is what's happening, then I'm going to have a good time with it. Everyone else seems to be.

The van comes screeching to a halt, and I am thrown backwards one more time. My head clatters against the wall of the van, and I groan in pain and relief. Once again Jerome laughs at me, and I roll my eyes underneath the blindfold. The whole laughing thing gets old pretty quick. The doors slam open and I am pulled up and out of the van by an unseen hand. Its grip on my arm is tight and bruising, dragging me blindly behind its owner. I stumble, struggling to keep up.  
"Careful!" Jerome barks from behind me, making me flinch inwardly. "We don't want to hurt our little prize." I shudder at his voice; I'm not quite sure why. A hand, presumably his, gives my shoulder a quick squeeze. For once fear takes hold of me, and I pull away. He giggles. The fucking giggling.  
"Do you do anything other than laugh?" I snap, and his response is completely predictable. I ignore him, instead focusing on what the men around me were saying. They were muttering quietly to each other. I can't quite hear what they're saying, but they seemed unimpressed. My presence was definitely not part of the plan, and it had thrown everything else off. Now, instead of Bruce Wayne, they had some random girl Jerome had met twice. They were going to have to deal with me and they were no further forward in their plan. I was the problem child of the situation.

After a couple of minutes being guided through the corridors of whatever building we're in, I am pulled to a halt. The blindfold is torn off of me, light flooding my vision, and a door slams behind me. I hear the distinctive click of a lock, and I am alone. The room is bare, a camping bed set up haphazardly in the corner. A lightbulb hangs from the ceiling, bathing the room in harsh, flickering light. A small window sits at the top of the wall in the corner, and I run towards it. My bound hands grab at the rim of it, pulling myself up until I can barely see out of it. Nothing. No houses, no cars, no people. Nothing. I sigh in resignation, falling back to sit on the bed. What am I doing here? This isn't my life. I don't put myself out there, I don't get involved with criminals. I don't get kidnapped by insane criminals. That's Bruce's job. Bruce. I hope he's safe. By now he ought to know about the school, about what happened. If he's got half a brain cell he'll be out of the city. But I doubt it. Bruce doesn't like making sensible decisions when people are in danger. Or even when people aren't in danger. Sometimes I think he's worse than me. The difference between us is that he didn't choose to become wrapped up in Gotham's darker side; I did. I know Jerome's going to go after him. He hasn't finished what he started yet. And now I'm involved. Jerome will probably use me as leverage against Bruce, or the police, or someone. At least, that's what I hope he's planning. It's the best outcome I can imagine from him taking me. But I know that he was going to look for me, he said so himself. I am in deeper shit than I could possibly have imagined.

Voices outside the door. My head whips up, pausing only for a second before I hurry off the bed to stand next to it. I press my ear against the cold metal, straining to hear anything. It's too muffled, but there's at least a couple of people outside the door. I don't think Jerome's there. I press harder, trying to catch a snatch of whatever they're discussing. Suddenly the lock scrapes, and I leap back just in time for the door to be thrown open. I stare at the people standing behind it, and they stare back. Two men and a woman, all dressed in ruined clothes and painted with face paint. Clearly Jerome's people. We all wait, wait for someone to speak. I refuse, knowing that I can't trust my voice. The woman takes a step forward, reaching for me, and I take a step back. She huffs at my resistance.  
"Jerome wants to see you." Her voice is croaky, as though she has been screaming for hours. "He told us not to kill you," I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, before she continued, "But he didn't say anything about hurting you. So you better cooperate." I hesitate before I nod, allowing her to take my arm and pull me out of the room. The men are silent but they stare at me, one with a wide smile stretching his face. That smile is the last thing I see before a blindfold is wrapped around my eyes, blocking out all light once again.


	10. Secrets and Lies

I am pushed into a room and shoved roughly into a chair. My hands are unbound for a split-second, only to be pulled behind me and tied together once again. A door slams shut and I am left alone, blindfolded and shivering. I can hear water dripping, echoing around me. I can't tell how big the room is. I don't even know if I'm alone. There's no sign of anyone else, no breathing or movement, but who knows. I fidget with the back of my skirt and try to tug it down, suddenly self-conscious of its length, or lack thereof. My movement pulls at the tape binding my wrists; I wince at the feeling of skin tugging, but remain silent. After the shock of adrenaline to my system I feel drained, exhausted, my body weighing me down. I know that won't last long, that soon I'll be face to face with Jerome once again and my body will start burning with energy.

A lock scrapes open, the door swinging. Footsteps. It's him. He hasn't spoken, has barely even breathed, but I know. I can feel him. There's no one else who feels like that. Rough fingers brush against the side of my head, barely there, before grabbing the blindfold and tearing it off of me. Once again I am blinded by the light in the room. My eyes quickly adjust, and I immediately focus on the figure in front of me. Jerome. I chew at the inside of my lip, forcing myself to stare right at him no matter how much I want to look anywhere else. Our eyes lock, and I resist the urge to look away. I cannot let him know how scared I am. I wait for him to speak, but instead he just stares at me, a slow grin forming on his face. I steel myself and take a deep breath.  
"Look, I know I'm pretty, but do you have a point to make?" The sarcasm hopefully covers up the slight tremor in my voice; I don't think it really matters, seeing as a cackle bursts from his mouth. I stare, waiting what feels like hours for him to stop.  
"Well, I knew there was something I liked about you." He takes a step forward, and my attempt to lean away from him only widens his smile.  
"You don't know anything about me."  
"Now, I wouldn't say that's quite true. I know you're feisty, you don't play by the rules and-" He leans in so I can feel his breath on my face, his hands pressing against my knees. I can feel them through my fishnets. "I know you're a liar."  
Shit. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
"I'm sure you don't." His voice oozes sarcasm. He steps back, giving me room to breathe as he starts pacing. "I remember asking you a little question when we met at Arkham, and I don't think you were entirely truthful."  
"I don't-" He interrupts me, waving a finger as though he's telling me off.  
"See, there it is again. You know, I think we should build our relationship off of honesty. Don't you agree, Harleen?"  
"You remember my name?" I'm shocked, forgetting that according to me, he shouldn't know it at all.  
"How could I forget it?" He grins, knowing he's won.  
"It's been four years, and a whole bunch of murders." I drop the pretence; there's no point. I can't win. But just because he's beaten me at this doesn't mean it's over. He stares at me, letting the silence build until it's almost overwhelming. I can't tell what he's thinking, if he's surprised at my response or just being a dick. I can't take it. "Look, why am I here?" His face twists, a terrifying image somewhere between a smile and a snarl. I bite my tongue, so hard I can taste blood. A tide of fear hits me; I have no idea what he wants with me, and I have no power to stop him. I could die, and I can't do anything about it.  
"Honestly? You... you fascinate me," He's not looking at me, instead choosing to circle around my chair until he is standing directly behind. I force myself to keep my head forward, despite the knowledge that I am completely and utterly exposed to him. No matter where he is in the room, I am vulnerable. It doesn't matter if I can see him.  
"What's that supposed to mean?" I shouldn't encourage him, but I need to know.  
"When we first met, you were a sweet, innocent little girl." I roll my eyes. "And now, well..." He grabs my shoulders and leans in until I can feel his breath against my ear, and when he speaks his cheek brushes against me. "Now, I don't think you're any of those things."  
"And? People change. Deal with it." _Shut up, Harleen_.  
"Yeah, but most people become boring after time. You, on the other hand-"  
"What? Suddenly I'm _interesting_ 'cause I'm not twelve?" He pats my cheek, making me cringe, and pulls away. He doesn't move back in front of me though.  
"No. You're interesting because you're just like me."  
"I'm nothing like you." I spit at him, twisting to release myself from his grip. My struggling only makes him hold on tighter, and he chuckles in my ear.  
"Not quite," He lets go, producing a sigh of relief before he spins the chair around, making me yelp. His mouth stretches into another grin, enjoying the fear I am failing to disguise. He takes my chin in his hand, forcing me to look at him as he leans ever closer. "But you will be."


	11. Freedom

In the silence following his sinister promise, Jerome just stares at me and grins, his hot breath fanning over my face. No matter how much I try, I cannot bring myself to look away. It's like I'm trapped by his gaze, staring into my very soul. A sudden banging at the door makes me jump, and Jerome laughs at me. A yell of "Boss!", accompanied by the insistent bang makes Jerome take a step back. He looks over me one more time before growling "don't move" and leaving the room, locking the door behind him with an audible 'click'. I wait until the sound of his footsteps echoes into silence, then let out a breath I had only just become aware of. I gasp for air, suddenly desperate for oxygen, for relief. Jerome's presence is like nothing I've ever experienced, and being alone with him simply heightens everything. Every nerve, every cell in my body is burning, and it's all because of him.

Bastard.

I twist in the chair that I've been left in, the rope around my wrists rubbing me raw. I strain for a glimpse at the door that is now behind me, but I'm too restricted. I stop moving, forcing myself to steady my breathing and collect my thoughts. Panicking won't get me anywhere. Right. I am essentially trapped. Tied to a chair, in a decrepit room, somewhere in some abandoned building in the middle of nowhere. It would seem that I am absolutely and truly fucked. I groan in frustration, throwing my head back to stare at the ceiling. A single light hangs from it, flickering and adding to the horror-movie situation I have found myself in. Why couldn't I just be normal? A normal girl with normal interests who attracts normal guys. That feels fair. But no. I have to be the kind of girl who can only attract insane criminals and weird loners. I breathe out heavily through my nose, steeling my resolve. I will not give up. This is what Bruce and I have been training for. _I'm not ready._ It doesn't matter whether I'm ready or not, it's now or never.

I begin to think through my options, discarding most of them as quickly as they come to mind. _Give in to Jerome._ Absolutely not. _Go along with it until you can escape._ Maybe, but escape might never come. _Get him to kill you._ Slightly too morbid. I'm not that desperate – yet. _Get out now._ A nice thought, but how? _Break the chair, like in the movies. Pick the lock. Run until you find a window or stairs._ And? _Keep running._

Right. That's it. I'm not going to sit here and wait patiently for whatever Jerome has planned for me. _But don't you want to know?_ I shake my head, pushing those thoughts away. No, I don't want to know how he plans to break me, to make me like him. _But you do. The very idea of it excites you. Don't lie to yourself._ I bite my lip, chewing hard until the pain brings me back to reality. Now is not the time to let my instincts take over. That will only get me killed, or worse, make me play right into Jerome's hands.

I tug once more at the ropes binding my hands, producing only pain as they chafe against my already tender wrists. I clench my jaw, take a deep breath, and close my eyes, before swinging violently to the side. The chair follows, wobbling dangerously on two legs before bringing me back. I stick with its movements, encouraging it to move a bit further each time until suddenly I tip over the edge and crash to the floor. The fragile chair shatters beneath me as I land on the hard concrete. My head bounces, releasing a blinding pain that fills my mind like static. I push past it, focusing on the coppery taste of blood in my mouth. I must have bitten my lip in the fall, but that is irrelevant for now. I struggle into a sitting position, taking a second to glance at the door and listen for any noise or alert. Nothing. Either Jerome has some particularly silent and ignorant minions, or I have been left unguarded. I pray that it is the latter. I reach behind me into the remains of the chair, grabbing at a sharp piece which I begin to rub against the rope trapping me. I keep one eye on the door, not allowing myself one spare second. I have no idea how long Jerome plans to leave me here, but I want to be long gone before he gets back. I can feel the rope fraying, and I let myself smile as it bursts apart. Finally, some luck. I scramble to stand, finally able to examine the rest of the room now that Jerome's presence isn't filling it. The door, of course; heavy, metal, and presumably held shut by the lock sitting next to the handle. I can't be too complacent though; there may be other locks on the opposite side, or even further security measures.

I make to move towards the door when an object in the corner of the room catches my eye. I blink, not believing what I'm seeing, but it remains. A television, sitting on a trolley and plugged into the wall. I glance at the door one more time before deciding, and step up to examine the television. I press the on button and it flickers to life. I immediately go to turn the volume down, afraid that someone outside might hear, but its already almost silent. I carefully adjust it so I can just hear it. I frown at the children's show playing on the screen, and begin flicking through the channels. I don't know what I'm looking for, but when I find it my mouth drops open. I take a step back, letting the light from the news programme wash over me, and gaze at the photo of me on the screen. It's my most recent school picture, one of the few times where I could be deemed acceptable by the uniform code. I tune into the words being spoken over the picture and listen carefully.  
 _"Harleen Quinzel, sixteen, was abducted from Gotham Academy earlier today following an attack on the school by infamous Arkham escapee, Jerome Valeska."_ A picture of Jerome, his most recent mugshot, replaces me on the screen. His cold gaze sends a shiver down my spine, even in photo form. _"Witnesses say that the deranged psychopath was looking for boy billionaire Bruce Wayne, who has not attended school since the recent breakout, and that Harleen stood up to Valeska, saving the life of another student."_ That's a nice way to put it. Makes me sound almost heroic. _"Upon the arrival of the police, Valeska and his gang fled, taking Harleen captive. The police do not know the location of the criminals or Harleen, but they believe that she is still with them. If anyone has any information or has seen Valeska or Harleen, please phone the number below."_ The images on the screen then switch over to a live news feed. My eyes widen and I begin to shake my head when I see my mother, father, and sister standing on the steps of our home, tears in their eyes and surrounded by reporters.  
"What are you doing, no, you idiots-"  
 _"Please, bring our daughter back."_ My mother begs the camera, and I choke back a sob. _"She's innocent in all of this, she's just a sweet, innocent girl who tried to do the right thing. We'll do anything to get her back."_ _  
_I slam a fist onto the television as she continues. The sentiment is sweet, but all she's doing is making the three of them targets. I don't want them to get hurt because of my mistakes.

I am drawn out of my thoughts by a high pitched whistling, which cuts in and out of existence as it moves ever close. Jerome. Shit. If he's coming for me, then I have no time. I let panic take over, making me grab one of the chair legs from the floor, ignoring the splinters digging into the palms of my hands, and position myself next to the door. If Jerome is coming in, then I can get a good hit as he comes in the door and run. I don't know how much time that'll give me, but it's better than sitting and waiting for him. I spread my legs slightly to lower my centre of gravity, remembering my training with Bruce. Jerome's whistling grinds to a halt as he stops outside of the room, and I realise too late that I've left the television on. If he can hear it, then he'll know I've managed to get free. I can only hope that it's too quiet, and he's just stopped whistling because he wants to. But I know that would be too easy. I hear a series of bolts slide across and ready the chair leg, knowing that I am most likely going to get myself killed doing this. Then again, better to go out with a bang than become Jerome's plaything. I hear the click of the lock and brace myself. The hinges creak slightly. I can still taste blood in my mouth, but my head has stopped spinning. I am ready.

The door slams open and Jerome takes barely a step in before I slam the piece of wood in my hands into his face. I've caught him by surprise, and he falls down onto one knee. I don't wait to see what he does, leaping over him like a hurdle and sprinting down the corridor in front of me. At the end of it, I take a left, my feet pounding in time with my heartbeat. The corridors seem endless, twisting and turning, like a maze with no exit. I pause for a second to glance behind me, and upon seeing nothing but an empty corridor I slow down. I'm not foolish enough to think he's just going to let me go, but I hope that I have lost him for now. I continue down the corridor, checking at every junction for that flash of red hair. I go to exhale, to give myself a break, when I hear him. His voice echoes through the building, coming from every direction.

"Harleen! Come out, come out, wherever you are!" I break into a run again, straining to locate the source of his voice and avoid it at all costs. "And I thought we were having fun!" I hear a gunshot, and jump to cover my mouth before a yelp can escape, giving me away. The shot sounded close. I keep pushing forward, knowing that to stop now is to die. Glancing down a corridor to my right, I skid to a halt at the sight of a window. _Freedom._ I change direction, sprinting towards it. When I reach it I press against it, trying to judge how far from the ground it is. We're a good few stories up, at least two, and I doubt that I'll be able to survive the fall. But I might, and regardless of what happens at least I will be free. "Harleen! I will give you to the count of three to give yourself up! And if I get to three, well…" He bursts into a horrific cackle, "I don't think I have to tell you, you will not enjoy it. But I will." I search the rim of the window, looking for a latch to open it with, but there's nothing. I guess I'll have to chance it with a jump. "One!" I begin to back up down the corridor, wanting to build up momentum. Nothing would be worse than trying to jump through a window just to bounce off of it. "Two!" I take off at a sprint, preparing for the imminent pain of crashing through solid glass. But instead of leaping to my freedom, a figure tackles me at the last minute, pushing me to the ground and leaving me dazed. "Three." Jerome. He's lying on top of me, one arm either side of my body, crushing me. I stare at him for only a second before I begin to claw at him, screaming, thrashing at anything I can see. My actions do nothing to deter him, seeming only to encourage him by the stretch of his permanent smile. He grabs at my hair, twisting it around his hand and pulling me up. I stop my attack, grabbing at him in a futile attempt to escape. All I can do his grasp at his arm as he heaves me to the side, throwing me against a wall only to push up against me. I refuse to give up, pushing and scratching at his chest and face despite the pain in my body and head telling me to give in, to let him have me. He grabs my wrists with ease, squeezing them until I stop struggling. I know I've lost, and he knows I know it. I stare at his face, refusing to cry or show weakness. He matches my stare, his face serious for once. Somehow, seriousness is more terrifying than humour. More unpredictable. More deadly. He shoves my hands above my head, holding them slightly too high for comfort, and keeps them there with one hand. The other drags through my dishevelled hair and caresses my cheek, making me flinch away as much as I can, before resting at the base of my neck. A shudder runs through me and he shushes me, almost gentle if it wasn't for the threat upon my life. He begins to squeeze, tighter and tighter until tears well up in my eyes that I can't hold. They burst free, running down my face like a waterfall.  
"Please," I don't know what I'm begging for, death or freedom, but it brings a smile to his face.  
He leans forward, chasing my tears with his lips, kissing the tracks left in their wake and when a new droplet begins to fall his tongue darts out to taste it. He hums, and tightens his hold on my neck, pushing me over the edge into unconsciousness. The last thing I see before the darkness takes me is his eyes, blue, then green, then blue again, staring at my fragile, broken form.


	12. Bullshit

_I am floating in blackness, with no sense of up or down, left or right. Just space. The emptiness chills me to the bone, but I can't do anything about it. I just float, waiting for something to happen. Hours pass, or maybe minutes, and the darkness begins to bleed out, leaving me lying on something soft and warm. Looking around, I see the familiar sofas and bookshelves of Wayne Manor. Next to me a fire blazes, washing over me and drawing the chill out. I reach towards it, but a voice calls out my name, and I turn to see Bruce standing behind me. I grin and stand up, walking into his outstretched arms. He wraps me in a hug, like a protective blanket from the world. I pull away, and he holds me at arms-length, watching me carefully._ _  
_ _"You can do this, Harleen."_ _  
_ _"Do what?" I question him, but before he can respond a burning pain splits my head in two. I grab at it, and I would have fallen to the ground if it weren't for the vice grip Bruce has on my arms. Flashes of images appear in my mind, images of blood and pain and a scarred smile._ _  
_ _"You need to keep going. Don't give up." I don't understand. What am I supposed to be doing? Before I can ask, Bruce shoves me away from him, his usual smile replaced by stone. I fall back on my elbows onto cold concrete, and I am back in my prison. The television flickers in front of me, showing me my family, dead and bloody. I begin to shake, tears spilling out of my eyes, when someone's hands grab me and pull me up to standing. I am spun around by the unseen figure, and find Selina. She grabs my hand and pulls me through the door, dragging me down the endless corridors. I stumble after her, struggling to keep up with her fast movements._ _  
_ _"Come on, Harleen! We gotta go!" I pick up my pace, matching her as we sprint aimlessly. There are no windows, and the lights flicker sporadically, sometimes leaving us in pitch blackness. As we run graffiti begins to appear on the walls; sinister eyes above red smiles, illustrations of crime scenes, curses and tags. A manic laugh follows us as we run, getting louder and louder. Distracted by the paintings surrounding us, I trip and collapse to the ground. I try to get up and slip, looking down to see that my hands are covered in blood. It's all over me, my shirt, my legs; everywhere. I whip my head back up to stare at Selina, pleading for help; but she just stares. "You gotta get out." She mutters. The laughter is getting closer. I look around, trying to find him, to make him stop, but there is nothing except a black corridor. When I turn back, Selina is gone, but I can still hear her voice, repeating the same thing over and over, getting louder until she is yelling. "Get out!" Her words mix with Jerome's laughter, deafening me. I wrap my arms around myself, shaking and shaking until all I can do is scream._

I jolt up from the nightmare, my chest heaving. For months the nightmares have been getting worse, and this one is on a new level. I can't escape what's happening, even in my sleep. I move to push my hair back, but my left hand is stopped by something cold and metal. I turn my head to look at it from the corner of my eye and find myself handcuffed to a pipe. _Shit._ I pull at my wrist, testing its give, and find it to be solid. I won't be getting out of this with a piece of wood. As my breathing calms down, I become aware of the splitting pain in my head and the ache in my throat. Now I know that Jerome's threats ring true – he won't kill me, not yet, but there is nothing stopping him from torturing me, mentally and physically. I push the pain in my body to the back of my mind, instead focusing on the room around me. It's different from the first one; no window. I am lying on a hard mattress on a metal bed frame, which creaks under me as I move. A chair sits next to the bed, with my jacket and tie draped over the back and my boots sitting next to it. How thoughtful. Another metal door, and above it, a camera blinks at me. I'm being watched. I should have expected it, but the thought of Jerome or any of his people watching me while I sleep makes me shudder. I raise my hand and flip the camera off, the only act of rebellion I am currently capable of. I give one more tug at the handcuffs before collapsing back onto the bed. It seems like my only choice is to wait.

"Fuck!" I slam my hand against the wall, hitting it again and again. "Fuck!" This isn't fair. I didn't ask for this. Any of this. What did I do to deserve Jerome's attention, his obsession? Nothing. Fucking nothing. This is all just bullshit. Fucking bullshit. All I did was talk to him once, four fucking years ago. I was just a kid. For the first time in my life, I wish that we had never come back to Gotham. My parents knew it wasn't safe and I didn't fucking listen. A wave of realisation washes over me. It's Jerome. It's always been Jerome. Everything shit in my life is because of him, and because I can't get rid of him. I had to leave Gotham because of him and now I'm back he has me in his grip again. The only way I can escape is by leaving Gotham, and I can't leave Gotham. It doesn't matter how dangerous it is, Gotham is my home. And I cannot survive away from it. I almost laugh at the irony of it. Gotham is the only thing that keeps me alive, and staying here will likely get me killed.

The grinding of bolts and the click of a lock makes me turn over, not wanting to keep my back turned on whoever is coming in. I push myself up into a sitting position as a man with messy makeup covering his face comes in, a glass and plate held in his hands. He glowers at me for a moment before coming closer. I shuffle as far back as I can, but he stops a few feet away, simply grabbing the chair and pulling it out of reach. Putting the dishes down onto the seat, he backs away out of the door and closes it. I listen for the now-familiar sound of the lock being turned, but it doesn't come. What that means, I don't know, but there's no point in worrying about things I can't do anything about. At least that's what I tell myself. I slide to the edge of the bed as much as my restrained arm allows me, reaching with the other for the sandwich and water. I strain as far as I can, but the chair is too far away. I huff, sitting back to let my arm rest. This is torture.

The door swings open again. This time, it's Jerome. I press back against the bed frame, wrapping my right arm around my legs in a pointless attempt at making myself a smaller target. He slams the door behind him, making me flinch. He grins and steps forward, picking up the glass and plate. My eyes flick to the glass, my tongue involuntarily darting out to wet my lips. I didn't realise until now how thirsty I was, but my throat and mouth are dry. I turn my eyes back to Jerome who is watching me gleefully, clearly revelling in my discomfort. He offers the glass to me, and I have no choice other than to reach out; but when I do, he pulls it back out of reach. A pitiful whine escapes my lips, and I glare at him.  
"Huh," He dangles the glass in front of me, so I close I could almost touch it, "Do that again."  
"Just give me the water," I spit at him, and he opens his mouth in faux offence.  
"Beg for it."  
I clench my jaw, not wanting to do what we wants but knowing that I need to drink. "Please."  
"If that's begging then I'm sane," He raises his eyebrows and gestures for me to continue. I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms, grounding me. No matter what I say right now, I need to remember that this is not a surrender. I'm surviving, the only way I can. I look down at my hand, not wanting to look at him; I don't know what I might do if I can see him.  
"Please, Jerome. I'm begging you. I need the water." I raise my eyes to look right at him, hoping that it will be enough. He contemplates me for a minute before extending the glass to me. I grab it before he can take it away and hold it to my mouth, drinking it all in a matter of seconds. The rapid movement of swallowing makes my bruised throat ache, but the cool water soothes the pain. I gasp upon finishing, dropping the now empty glass onto the bed and rubbing my wet mouth. I look back at Jerome to find him now sitting in the chair and staring at me, almost expectantly. "Thanks," I tell him begrudgingly. My eyes fall to the plate in his hand and the sandwich sitting on it, and in response, my stomach growls. "Can I…?" He gives me the plate and I set it on my knees, taking the sandwich and biting into it. Peanut butter and jelly. I close my eyes, savouring the simple flavours as I chew. Jerome chuckles at me, and my eyes snap open in defence. He leans back in the chair, arms folded across his chest, and nods for me to keep eating. I finish the sandwich quickly, the silence making me tense. He looks me up and down as I lean forward to put down the plate, and I suddenly realise that my skirt has ridden up while I slept, exposing my upper thigh. He grins as I hurriedly pull it down, unsure of how much he's seen.  
"I don't think I need to warn you," Jerome's voice cuts through the silence like a knife, "If you try anything like that again, I will not hesitate to break your legs." I go to nod, but my mouth moves faster than my brain.  
"What did you expect? That I was just going to sit around and wait for you to torture me? You kidnapped me." I bite my tongue, knowing that I've probably pissed him off. His gaze darkens, and he leans forward on his elbows. The silence weighs heavily around us, filled with nothing but his stare and my shaky breathing. I jump when he suddenly claps.  
"There she is!" He grabs my arm and pulls me towards him as close as I can get, smirking at my obvious fear. "I was starting to worry I was wrong about you." I open my mouth to question him, but he interrupts me before I can even start speaking. "The whole scared little girl thing – that's boring. But this," he grabs my jaw and squeezes it, forcing my face even closer to his, "this is why I brought you here. You're not scared of me, not really. You're scared of yourself." _He's right, you know he's right. You're scared of what you'll do when there's nothing there to stop you._ Something snaps inside me and I grab his hand, digging my nails in as hard as I can.  
"Don't tell me who I am," I growl, leaning closer until all I can see are his eyes, pupils blown so wide that they consume all colour. My heart beats rapidly against my chest, and I'm practically shaking from the adrenaline pumping through my veins. "You don't know me. And you won't break me. You can't."  
"And why's that?" He pushes his forehead against mine, trying to scare me into pulling back, but I remain still. Fear no longer exists.  
"I broke when I left Gotham. I didn't know who I was without it. But now I'm back, there is nothing you can do to me that will make me break."  
Jerome stares into my soul and I stare right back, for what feels like hours, before he does the last thing I would ever expect him to do; he closes the distance between us and traps my lips in his.


	13. Truth or Dare

p class="MsoNormal"My hand automatically releases his, instead reaching to grab his hair. It's soft, far softer than I expected, and I thread my fingers through it. His mangled lips are rough against mine, stealing the breath from me, and I can't help but respond. He releases my jaw and grabs the back of my neck, pulling me impossibly closer. I go to grab him with my other hand, making the handcuffs tug at my wrist, and I realise what I am doing. My eyes snap open, and I bite down hard until I can taste his blood in my mouth. He releases my neck and I push him away from me, scrambling as far back up the bed as I can, my chest heaving. br /"Don't do that. Don't you fucking dare," I seethe, my mind spinning. I can't think straight. He smirks at my response, rubbing the blood from his mouth and examining it before licking it off of his fingers. Grabbing the glass and plate still sitting on the bed he stands up, going over to the door and banging on it once. It swings open and he steps through, taking a second to look back and examine my still shaking figure. br /"Just… something to think about," he muses, casting one final glance over me before leaving, the door locking loudly behind him. I press a hand against my swollen lips, /em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"What just happened? /emHe kissed me. An insane murder, the man that is holding me captive, just kissed me. em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"And? /emAnd I kissed him back. Fuck, I enjoyed kissing him. em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"How did it feel?/em It felt… Amazing. No one's ever kissed me like that before. Like the only thing that mattered was our lips pressed together. The building could have been on fire and I wouldn't have noticed. What does that say about me? I'm in too deep. I've numbed myself to the normal fear and danger of Gotham, and now I'm chasing that high, no matter the cost. I wasn't content with what I had, and now… Now, I don't know if I can trust myself to make the right choice. It's so tempting to just give in, to let go, be the person Jerome thinks I am; but I can't. I have to be strong, for my family, for Bruce, for myself./p  
p class="MsoNormal"*/p  
p class="MsoNormal"It's been two days since Jerome kissed me, and I haven't seen him since. I have been left to sit and think, still restrained to the bed. Twice a day someone brings me a sandwich and water, twice a day someone comes in and takes away the empty dishes, and twice a day I am uncuffed and taken to a toilet across the corridor. They never talk to me, they barely make eye contact, and I don't try to talk to them. There's no point. I wouldn't enjoy it and I wouldn't get any information out of them. All I do is sit, then sleep, then sit, then sleep some more. If this is Jerome's way of making me go insane, it's working./p  
p class="MsoNormal"The monotonous routine is broken when a woman comes in. She's one of Jerome's, obviously, but there's nothing in her hands and nothing to collect. She takes a step forward and pulls out a key. br /"You're to come with me. If you struggle I will hurt you." I nod, knowing that even if I could overpower there's no way I would be able to escape the building. She comes closer, leaning over me to unlock the cuff around the pipe. Once it's open she takes my right arm and locks the cuff around it instead. I stand up, legs shaky from lack of use, and she puts one hand on my shoulder in a vice grip. No chance of running. She bangs on the door, which opens to reveal a guard holding a rifle. I think I recognise him; he must have been at the school. She pushes me out into the corridor and begins dragging me to the right. We walk in a straight line for a few minutes, each stretch of hallway identical, until we stop outside of a door. She uncuffs me and opens it, gesturing for me to enter. "You have twenty minutes. Everything you need's in there." I narrow my eyes at her, confused, but I go in, letting her close the door behind me. It's a bathroom. Surprisingly clean, all things considered. A stack of towels sits on the counter next to what I'm guessing are fresh clothes. A quick glance in the shower finds hair products and body wash. I can't help but suspect that there's some ulterior motive, but the thought of a hot shower overpowers my concerns. I quickly examine the room, looking for cameras or surveillance equipment, but it seems that I have been left unsupervised other than the guard. I lock the door and press a finger against the mirror sitting above the counter, just in case. It's safe. I catch a glimpse of myself, and my eyes widen in shock. I knew I probably didn't look great, but my appearance is worse than I could have imagined. The makeup I'd been wearing has mostly rubbed off, but what's left is smeared around my eyes and down my cheeks, following the tear tracks from when Jerome choked me. I raise a hand to touch the purple bruises blossoming around my throat, a deadly necklace. As my fingers brush it, it aches. There's another bruise at my hairline, I'm guessing from falling out of the chair, and a couple of fresh ones scattered along my jaw from Jerome's hand. My chin is flecked with dried blood, mine and Jerome's, mixed together into a gruesome artwork. I unbutton my shirt slowly, glancing back at the door. Once it's off, I see even more bruises running over my shoulder, down my arm, and across my ribs. A brutal painting of pain. I turn on the shower and, after taking off the rest of my clothes, step under the stream of water. It burns. I let the pain wash over me, wiping away the dirt, the grime, the sweat, the blood. But it can't wipe away him. I can't stop thinking about the feeling of Jerome's lips against mine, my hand in his hair, him holding onto my neck. His blood in my mouth. There's a part of me that wishes I had kept going, had just let go of my fear. It would be so easy. But that's what he wants, and I refuse to let him get it. I'm nothing if not stubborn./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Before I examine the clothes I grab my bra of the floor and turn it so I can see the back. It only takes a couple of seconds of fiddling for me to pull out one of the wire hooks and straighten it into something resembling a lockpick. Putting it on I slip the piece of wire inside it, making sure it's completely hidden. Satisfied, I pick up the first item in the pile. Clearly they have their own stock of clothing. A black leather miniskirt that will definitely be indecent when I put it on, and a red mesh top that is completely see through. At least my bra's black. I hold up a pair of bright blue panties on one finger and grimace at the thought of Jerome's followers picking them out for me. I put the clothes on, making sure to pull my fishnets back over my legs to at least pretend I'm less exposed. I glance at myself one more time in the mirror, rolling my eyes at how stupid I look. I unlock the door, opening it to find the same woman standing waiting for me. She looks me up and down, seemingly in approval, and she cuffs me /"Thank you, so much," I smile at her, oozing sarcasm, and she narrows her eyes. She doesn't seem to get it. I follow her back to my room (when did I start referring to it as mine?) and let her cuff me to the pipe. She leaves, and as the door swings shut behind her I call "Great conversation! You've got some amazing people skills!" Expectedly, I'm ignored./p  
p class="MsoNormal"*/p  
p class="MsoNormal"Another day goes by until Jerome returns. When he sees me he lets out a low whistle, clearly admiring my new outfit, and I roll my eyes. br /"I gotta say, it's a good look on you," He spins the chair around and sits, resting his arms on the back of it. br /"Gross. What do you want?" I don't bother with niceties, knowing that it'll only piss him off. br /"What? I can't just visit my favourite girl?" He wiggles his eyebrows at me and I clench my jaw, struggling not to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the situation. br /"No, you can't." I watch him carefully, keeping my face as neutral as possible. I can tell he's waiting for me to slip up, for a crack in my armour, anything he can use against me. He's not going to get it. br /"Ah, you got me." He slams his hands against the back of the chair and stands up, moving to sit on the foot of the bed with his back against the wall and his legs out in front of him. I shift slightly, pretending I'm sitting up straighter when, in reality, I am trying to move further away. There's not much I can do though. "I was thinking –"br /"That's new." He looks at me, clearly irritated at my interruption, and I smirk at /"I was thinking," He growls, daring me to interrupt again, "You must be getting bored, stuck in this room all day, every day."br /"Yeah, it's almost like someone's holding me prisoner or something." I glare at him /"Okay, point taken. But!" He holds a finger in the air, punctuating his sentence. He's so overdramatic it's sickening. "I thought we could play a little game."br /"I'm guessing that game isn't "Let Harleen go", is it?"br /"Absolutely not. It's quite a well-known game actually, you've probably heard of it." I raise my eyebrows at him, prompting him to continue. "Truth or dare." A sinister smile spreads across his face as he finishes his sentence, and my eyes widen. I know enough about Jerome to know this isn't going to be as simple as it sounds; he has a plan, something that he wants out of this, but I'm not in a position to refuse. br /"Fine. Who goes first?" I settle back against the wall so that my legs are pointed towards him. My left arm sits behind me, twisted and /"Me, duh. So," He leans towards me, edging into my personal space, "Truth or dare?"br /"Truth." Logically it's the safest option, but I know Jerome will twist it to suit /"Chicken. So…" He lets the word hang in the air, "Have you ever wanted to kill someone?" He looks at me expectantly, trying to gauge my reaction. I keep my eyes on the wall beyond him and will my voice not to /"No."br /He raises his hand and runs a gloved finger down the side of my face. I resist the urge to cringe away. "I thought we agreed to be honest with each other, Harleen, and I can tell you're not being honest with me." I bite my lip, wanting to remain silent, but I know he won't let /"It's the truth. I've never wanted to kill anyone."br /"But…?"br /"But I have wanted people to die. Or… or to disappear."br /"Like who?" I turn my head slightly to look at his annoying, smug face. br /"I answered the question. Your turn: truth or dare?"br /He hums, pretending to contemplate the question, before looking back at me. "Dare." br /I only need to think for a moment. I know exactly what I'm going to dare him to do. "I dare you to uncuff me." br /"Nice try, babes." I roll my eyes at the nickname, trying to ignore the slight blush that rises to my cheeks. "is this really your great escape plan?"br /"Not at all." No, but it is a step. "I'm not an idiot. I've learned my lesson." I gesture carelessly, bringing his attention to the bruises circling my neck. I don't miss the way that his eyes linger on my chest. "I'm not getting out of here unless you want me to. But my arm is killing me. What harm does it do to you if I'm uncuffed?" He examines me, trying to figure out what my plan is, and I examine him right back. Despite being alone with Jerome, I'm not afraid. I'm not sure what the feeling is, but it's not fear. For some reason, I don't think he's going to hurt me. I'm not safe, I'm not stupid enough to think that, but that part of my brain that makes me go out on the streets, that is fuelled by danger, wants me to be here. br /"Oh, alright." He heaves himself up, pulling out a key while approaching me. I furrow my brow in confusion; I hadn't expected that to work. He leans over me, radiating heat. A rough hand grabs my wrist, his grip bruising, as he unlocks the handcuff. His face is right next to mine. If I were to move a few inches we would be touching. My eyes run over the scars outlining his face, and I resist the urge to reach out and feel them. Once I am released he looks at me, green eyes locking with mine, before retreating to sit back down on the bed. I stand up, rubbing my sore wrist, and stretch the stiff limb, smiling at the satisfying em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"pop/em of fluid releasing. I look at him over my shoulder to find him reclined on the bed, arms under his head, and watching me. br /"My turn, I guess?" I know I'm pushing my luck, but the boredom I've been stuck with for the past few days is finally dissipating, and I want to stretch this out for as long as possible. br /"Okay, then. Truth or dare?" I know I should say truth, but once again my words ignore my /"Dare." I bite my lip, but the word has already escaped, and now I must face the consequences. br /"Oh really?" em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"Shit. Not good./em Jerome sits up from his position on the bed, a grin quickly growing on his face. I can't imagine what he has in mind – I don't want to. But his expression makes my heart race. His voice is an excited rasp when he finally speaks. "Can you do a handstand?"span style="mso-spacerun: yes;" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" /p 


	14. Honesty Hurts

"What-" I blink in astonishment, "Yes, I can do a handstand. Why?" He jumps up and grabs my arm. We're out of the room before I can protest, speed-walking down the corridor. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see." We burst through a door, entering a stairwell, and begin walking up. After so much time sitting the movement makes my legs ache. Jerome doesn't slow down, making me stumble to keep up. After three flights of stairs I lose my footing, and, with Jerome's grip on me, I can't catch myself as I fall. I slam down onto one arm, my head barely missing the step. I groan, more from annoyance than pain.

"Can you slow down?" Jerome releases my arm and grabs my waist, ignoring the yelp of defiance that escapes me as he hauls me up. After setting me back on my feet he continues upwards, expecting me to follow; I do. We finally reach the top of the stairs, and Jerome opens the fire exit. He bows dramatically, waving me through. I hesitate before I go out, feeling a gentle breeze move my hair. We're on the roof. Outside. I take a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill my lungs. After so long stuck inside it's like a drug. I can feel Jerome standing behind me, but I don't care. I'm free. Free from my room, from the corridors, from the stifling imprisonment. It's the dead of night, and without the lights of the city, I can see the stars. In the distance Gotham glows orange, burning against the black sky. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but why are we up here?" I turn around, finding him leaning against the wall next to the door. Even the sight of him can't wipe the smile from my face.

"I dare you -" He pushes off from the wall, coming closer until there are mere inches separating us, but I don't back away, "To do a handstand."

"Yeah, I figured that out," I laugh, "But why did we have to come up to the roof for that?"

"Because," He takes my shoulders and turns me to face the side of the roof, one arm pointing past my head to the short wall bordering it, "I dare you to do a handstand on the edge."

"Oh, fuck off," I look back at him, hoping to see evidence of a joke, but he is deadly serious. "You're mad."

"We already established that, keep up," He begins pushing me towards the roof. His grip on my shoulders is unrelenting and I can only let him move me. With a final shove, he releases me. I put my hands on the wall, preparing to push myself up.

"I hate you."

"Sure you do." I clamber up onto the top of the wall, fully aware of the way his eyes follow me in the revealing clothing. I resist the urge to look down, knowing that we're at least six stories up if not more. I don't want to know what fate awaits if I fall.

"How long for?" I've only just realised that my feet are still bare. The concrete is cold against them.

"Oh, I don't know. Ten seconds."

"Fine. If my skirt rides up don't be a creep," I stretch my hands out and barely register his murmur of "No promises" before I'm tipping upside down. Blood rushes to my head but I grit my teeth, willing myself to stay as straight as possible. I begin to count in my head; I don't want to be up here any longer than I have to be. I block out everything, the wind, the occasional car, Jerome watching me, focussing entirely on staying upright. My eyes slide to the ground below me, a good 20 metres; if I fall from this height, I'm dead. My arms shake slightly; I haven't done this in so long. _9, 10_. I let myself tip back to the wall, trying to maintain control as I land on my knees. _Ouch._ I exhale, a smile forming on my face. I did it. I swing my legs down, jumping to stand next to Jerome. "I did it. Truth or dare?" I'm starting to enjoy myself a bit too much, but I don't care.

He keeps his eyes on me, taking barely a second to consider. "Truth." I never expected him to say that, but I already know what I want to ask.

"Why did you kill your mom?" He groans in response, walking away from me in irritation.

"Well, that's boring. She was a whore, she beat me up, yadda yadda –"

"That's not what I meant." I follow him, pressing the question. "Why did you kill her when you did? Why that night?" I won't let him skirt around this. "Why did you kill her the night we met?"

It's the one question I've been asking all these years, that has kept me from forgetting him. He stops suddenly, and I almost collide with him.

"I killed her," He turns back and grabs my arms and pulling me even closer, "Because you told me to." My mouth drops open in shock.

"What the fuck? That's bullshit." I try to push him away from me, but he doesn't move, leaving me with my hands on his surprisingly toned chest. Don't think about his chest, Harleen!

"Really? Because I distinctly remember you telling me, and I quote, "We should kill her."" I remember.

" _Why do you let her treat you like that?" I fidget with the hem of my skirt, peering at the boy sitting next to me. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye and lets out a huff of air. His breath creates a small cloud that quickly disappears into the cool night._

" _I can't exactly do anything about it. She's my mom. I don't have anything if I don't have her." His voice cracks, and I lay a hand on his arm, my best attempt at comfort._

" _That's not true, Jerome. You have the circus, and if you don't want to stay then there's plenty you could do. You're smart, I'm sure you'd find something." He smiles at that, as though I've told a joke, making me frown. He shifts, taking my hand in his. His skin is cold._

" _It's sweet that you think that, but life doesn't work that way. We can't all just do whatever we want. And besides, she'd never let me leave." He's right of course. A thought springs to mind, and I voice it as seriously as I can._

" _Well then, I guess we should kill her," We lock eyes, and I can only hold the façade for a second before I start laughing at my own joke. Jerome quickly joins in, squeezing my hand. I squeeze back, glad that I seem to have cheered him up._

"I was joking, you idiot!" I shift backwards, trying to force him to back off, but he follows me. "I wasn't being serious."

"Well, how was I supposed to know that?" _Is he serious?_

"Not everyone's insane, Jerome," I shake my head at him, horrified at the idea that Jerome killed his mother because of me. "I… I was a kid. I saw someone hurting and I tried to make light of it. I didn't know what else to do!" He stares at me, searching my eyes for something, but I don't know what. "Look, I'm sorry your childhood was shit. I'm sorry your mom abused you. But you can't say that it's my fault you killed her." I'm chewing my lip again, and his eyes flick down before he moves away from me. I step back to lean against the wall and look out towards the city, able to breathe again as Jerome walks away from me

"I never said it was _your_ fault." I turn to look at him over my shoulder, confused.

"What?"

"It's not "your fault" that I killed her." He's looking back at me now. "I was always going to do it. _You_ just gave me the final push."

"That's just as bad," The way he's looking at me makes me shudder. I break the connection between us and look down at my hands, fidgeting with one of the garish buckles on my skirt. All this has done is confuse me more. "Why did you even listen to me?"

"Well," he seems resistant to answering, "I guess you were nice to me."

"I was nice to you?" The words taste like venom in my mouth. All of this, because I was kind to a stranger?

"Yeah," His voice is rough, almost vulnerable; this scares me more than joking and threatening ever could. "Why?"

"Why what?" I furrow my brow, confused at the question. I feel him rather than hear him move closer.

"Why were you so nice to me?" His breath brushes against my neck. His arms move around my sides, trapping me against the wall. A flash of metal reveals a knife now in his hand, and I suck in a breath. Adrenaline quickly floods my veins. "Why were you, innocent little Harleen, so nice to the strange boy at the circus?" I don't want to answer; but I know I have to.

"Well… you helped me. You noticed me..." I can't keep the tremor from my voice, remembering that night. In my-twelve-year-old mind, Jerome was a prince, a knight, my saviour from the terror of being lost. He was handsome, and funny, and gentle. He even gave me his jumper when he saw me shiver. I fell hard, in the way that twelve-year-olds do.

"And?" He presses against me, lips brushing against my ear with a growl.

"And you saw me." My mind screams at me, but I need to tell someone. And Jerome is the only one who could even begin to understand. "You saw me. Not "Harleen Quinzel, heir to the family fortune, can do no wrong. The perfect daughter, perfect sister, perfect student, perfect, perfect, fucking perfect!"" I slam a hand on the wall. My body is trembling; I can barely breathe. I don't know where this is coming from. _Yes, you do._ "I was just Harleen." I look up at the sky, unconsciously resting my head on Jerome's shoulder. Tears well in my eyes, my breathing ragged. I can't believe what I've just said. I never realised how much who I was mattered until I said it. But it's true. I let myself become fixated on him all because I was sick of everyone's expectations – and the fact that I couldn't live up to them. I spin around in his arms, almost hesitating when I see how close he is, our chests now pushed against each other. _Has he ever heard of personal space?_ "Take me back to my room." I push against him, but he doesn't budge.

"We're not finished playing, Harleen." I hate hearing my name on his lips – like he owns it.

"Yes, we are!" Fuck caution. Fuck fear. I can't be here with him now. Not with his body so close to mine, not with our breath mingling in the cold night air, not with his eyes boring into me. I claw at his face, hoping for him to be thrown off by it enough for me to escape his arms. He takes a step back, laughing at me, and I use the moment to grab the knife he's holding. The blade slides against the palm of my hand, but I barely feel it. The build-up of adrenaline in my veins gives me the strength to twist a hand in Jerome's shirt and turn us around so that his back is against the wall. I press the now bloody knife to his neck, forcing his head back. His arms hang by his sides, making no effort to push me away.

"Go on, then. Kill me." He chokes out a laugh, and I push harder. A thin line of blood appears. I hold his life in my hands, and he's laughing at me.

"I could do it. Right now." I tighten my grip on him and shove so that he is bent back awkwardly. I can see the scar from when Galavan killed him from this angle. The smile on his face has only grown, and it pisses me off. "You think I won't?"

"Oh, you would – if you wanted to," One hand slowly comes up to wrap gently around my wrist, not pulling me away but instead pushing the blade deeper. "But I don't think you do." I glare at him, anger and pain and fury burning inside of me. It would be so easy just to push the knife in and end this now. But something is holding me back. _I do want to kill him. I do._ But I don't. I can't. I let out a yell of anger, throwing the knife down to my side and retreating quickly, almost tripping over my frozen feet. I'm shaking. He rubs at the oozing scratch, gloves staining red and grinning in victory. "Told ya'." He begins to approach, slow but inevitable, and the cut in my hand starts to sting and ache.

"I'm not a killer," I wish my voice was stronger as I try to defend myself.

"Sure. Keep telling yourself that," He rolls his eyes before setting them on me with what I can only describe as hunger in them. "But I did warn you." _If you try anything like that again, I will not hesitate to break your legs._ I hurry backwards, shaking my head, a futile attempt at escape.

"No, wait-" In the blink of an eye he's rushing me, and before I can move out of the way he's grabbing me and throwing me over his shoulder. A short scream escapes me as he begins to carry me towards the stairwell. I can't move, frozen, until the back of my head knocks roughly against the doorframe. I begin to thrash, hitting against his back with as much force as I can muster. It's meaningless; I only succeed in making him laugh. As we begin our descent Jerome makes no effort to soften his steps, letting me bounce heavily on his shoulder which jabs into my stomach with every movement, in turn forcing me to cling to him in an attempt to secure myself. It's sure to bruise. But somehow, I don't think that's the worst that's going to happen to me tonight.


	15. Pain

p class="MsoNormal"emYou really fucked up, /emis the only thing running through my head as Jerome attaches my ankles to the bed. He's whistling. The zip ties already around my wrists dig into my flesh, but my hisses of complaint are muffled by the gag in my mouth. My bed was dragged into the centre of the room by one of his followers while Jerome shoved the soiled wad of fabric into my mouth and fixed it in place. Now we're alone. The cut on my hand is still stinging, blood pooling in my palm, hot and sticky. I make a fist, a futile attempt at stifling the flow. Jerome stands up, finished binding me to the bed, and he claps his /"Alright! Bring it in!" The same follower from before enters, pushing a trolley that rattles on the uneven floor. I twist as much as I can in an effort to see what it carries, but it's too tall. He comes to a stop beside Jerome and locks the wheels. "Now get out." br /We're left alone again, and he resumes his whistling as he begins to examine the items on the cart. My eyes widen as he picks up a heavy hammer. I begin to shake my head, trying to reason with him through the gag, but there's no point. Even if I could speak, what would I say to make him stop? I fucked up, and now I need to deal with the consequences. He throws the hammer in the air and catches it before pointing it at me. "I could tell you I don't want to do this, but I'm not a liar. I told you what would happen if you tried to run and you didn't listen. And I am a man of my word." He brings the hammer closer, dragging the cold metal down my face. I shiver and turn my head away. br /"Look at me, Harleen." He taps the hammer against my cheek and I open my eyes , turning to him. I can't bring myself to look at his face, so instead I stare at the already closed scratch on his neck. I made that. I was an inch from killing him, from freedom, and I froze. He tips my chin up, forcing me to lock eyes with him, and I muster up as much hate as I can. I do hate him. He's a monster. A murderer. He kidnapped me. "Don't look at me like that," He sniggers, and I strengthen my glare. He begins to trail the hammer down my body, over my chest and along my thigh to rest on my knee. "This is all your own fault." I growl at him through my gag and he tilts his head at me, thinking. "You know what?" He rips the gag out of my mouth and throws it on the floor. I cough and spit at the stale taste left in my mouth. "I want to hear you scream." br /"Stop, please," I beg uselessly. I feel so weak. "You don't have to do this." br /"Despite how much I love to hear you beg, I need you to understand that your actions have consequences. Now, just so you know, this is gonna hurt." He raises the hammer into the air, positioned directly above my knee, and I look away. I don't want to see this. My heart is racing against my chest, my limbs straining against my restraints, but there's no escape. emYou'll never escape. /emIn my peripheral vision I see Jerome's hand pull the hammer back before swinging down, sealing my fate./p  
p class="MsoNormal"I scream as the hammer crashes down onto the metal bed frame. The sound bounces around the room, but the sound of my heart beating in my ears drowns it out. br /"Wh-what?" I gasp, bending my neck to see the dented metal with the hammer still sitting in it, my legs intact. I look up at Jerome to find him watching my response in glee. I don't even try to hide the fear and confusion in my eyes as I gaze at him, nor do I try to hide the rapid rise and fall of my chest. "I- I don't understand."br /"Did you really think I'd break your legs?"br /"Well, yeah…" He drops the hammer on the ground with a thud, making me jump, and turns away to fiddle with the cart. br /"I don't have time for that. Carrying you about everywhere might sound enjoyable, but it would really take a lot out of my day. We have other stuff to do, and I need you walking."br /"Other stuff?" I can barely form a sentence. I'm still shaking. I have no idea what he's talking about, but it can't be good. Then again, can anything be worse than having my legs broken with a hammer? emAbsolutely. /embr /"Don't worry about that. Worry… about this." He lifts his hand, revealing a knife almost identical to the one I had held to his throat less than an hour ago. I tense, my body automatically attempting to shift away from him. The zip ties hold strong, keeping me in place. br /"Wait, wait, wait!" Jerome hesitates for a second, humouring me. "I've learned my lesson. You don't have to do this." He considers what I've said for a second before shaking his /"You know, I might have believe you if you hadn't already pulled that line," He approaches, slow, inevitable, the knife twisting in his fingers. "Besides, one day we'll look back on this and laugh." br /"I doubt that," I spit at him, but he just ignores me. With his free hand he grabs the thin material of my shirt, pulling it up to fully expose my bruised stomach. I jerk involuntarily under his touch, but can do no more. He lays the flat of the blade against my belly button, pushing down slightly as he pulls it to sit just below my ribs. It's enough to make me wince, but not enough to bleed. Not yet. He adjusts the angle so that the tip of the knife is pushing against my skin, digging in. I feel it give way, and look down to see a droplet of blood oozing out. I let out a hiss of pain, and his eyes lift to mine. br /"Did you think about it?" br /"What?" I try to ignore the pain in my stomach as he questions me. Maybe I can talk my way out of this. br /"When I kissed you. Did you think about it?" He pushes in slightly, drawing a gasp of pain out of me. "And don't lie."br /"Not really." emA complete lie. /em"Not very impressive, if I'm honest." This is not the time to be sarcastic, but it's the only defence mechanism I have available to me right now. br /"Really?" The blade twists minutely in my stomach. It only stings now. But if I'm not careful it'll get far worse. "Are you sure about that?" br /"I've kissed better." emYou've kissed three guys and they were all terrible. /emSomething flickers over his face, something dark and dangerous. emIs he jealous?br /em"I told you not to lie, Harleen," He digs the knife in further and I yelp in /"Fuck! Yes, I thought about it." What's the point in lying? He sees through everything I say no matter what I /"And?" I grit my teeth, glaring up at him. Maybe I can't lie, but that doesn't mean I have to tell the truth /"Fuck you." He groans, almost in /"Well, then," He adjusts his grip on the knife and lays his other hand on my ribs, pressing down. "Try not to move. It'll just hurt more." He shoves the blade in, and I scream./p  
p class="MsoNormal"*/p  
p class="MsoNormal"I can't scream anymore. I can barely speak. My throat is hoarse, my cheeks damp with tears. My stomach burns, aches, but I can't bring myself to look. Jerome drops the bloody knife on the trolley, finally finished. He didn't just stab me. I can tell that much. He carved something into me. I don't know what. I can't organise my thoughts. With every breath I feel it splitting open. My hand twitches slightly, the dried blood cracking. The cut on my palm feels like barely a scratch now. Jerome removes his gloves, letting them fall next to my head, and traces the wound with his fingers, gathering my blood on them. He examines the glossy red liquid before his tongue darts out and tastes it. He holds his fingers towards my face but I turn away, my stomach turning at the sight. He wipes them clean on the sheets by my head. The scent of metal fills the air. He returns to the bloody mark on my stomach and examines it, almost like a doctor. "Well? Don't you want to look?" br /emNo, I don't want to fucking look! /emI want to scream at him, to fight, to kick and scratch and get away from him. But I can't. I can't even lift my head, so he does it for me, a rough hand cradling my skull and forcing me to look. My eyes fall to the mark on my stomach, the jagged line marring the previously smooth skin. I was right. It's not just a cut. It's a letter. "J". I let out a strangled gasp at the sight of it, immediately whipping my head back up to look at him. br /"You… you…"br /"Yeah?"br /"You bastard!" I pull against the zip ties uselessly, but I refuse to show weakness. I will never stop fighting. This has simply renewed my anger. "You piece of shit! What, you think you own me? That I belong to you? I'm not a possession. You don't get to just write your name on me and keep me!" br /"That's not what this is about," His voice is exasperated, as though I'm a child throwing a temper-tantrum. He presses his hands down into my arms, forcing me to stop moving. "You should be thanking me. I could have done far worse."br /"That's not how it works, you asshole!" I continue kicking my legs and ignore the burn spreading through my abdomen. Jerome sighs and lifts a leg, holding my knees down with his calf. I stop struggling, suddenly very aware of how close he is. Despite everything, energy still runs through my body, electrifying every nerve ending and making every hair stand on end. br /"Look, there's two options here: you stop struggling, accept your situation, and let me clean this mess up, or you keep fighting and I leave you here to suffer." I grit my teeth as the pain in my stomach becomes unbearable. What's the point in fighting? If I play along, there might be some chance of survival – in one form or another. br /"Fine," I mutter, avoiding his eyes in shame at my surrender. Cooperation may be the key to survival, but that doesn't mean it doesn't feel terrible. br /"What was that?" He releases one arm and grips my jaw, aggravating the bruises already there, and forcing me to make eye-contact with him. "I couldn't quite hear you."br /"Fine!" I spit at him. "I'll stop fighting." I drop my head against the mattress when he releases my face from his grip. I'm exhausted. It's too much. The constant fear, the planning, the ideas for escape endlessly spiralling around my brain. A new plan. That's what I need. Escape hasn't worked. Overpowering him hasn't worked. And I'm not ready to die. That leaves only one option. Make him trust me. Make him think I've given up; given in. Play along with his game, with his manipulation and tricks. And as soon as I have his trust… I don't know. I'll figure it out. Planning every moment will only shoot me in the foot. Jerome backs away from me, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. He kneels down out of my line of vision, reaching for something. When he reappears, he's holding a basic first-aid kit, like the one I keep in my room for emergencies. His face is serious now, almost scarily so. He examines the marred skin clinically. "At least the bleeding's stopped." He mutters, more to himself than to me. He opens the box and rests it next to my legs, pulling out a wipe. I stare up at the ceiling, not wanting to see the process. His stupid fucking face, examining me. I flinch at the sting of alcohol on the wound, the feeling of his cold hands wiping at the blood and gore. It's strangely intimate. Jerome is messy, impulsive, violent, careless; but as he cleans, he's almost gentle, careful. It's confusing. Uncomfortable. I'm sure this is all part of his plan, to convince me that he is the right option. The only option. He believes that we are the same – that he can and will drive me insane. After he does that… who knows what he has planned. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to imagine what goes on in his mind, what he thinks about me. It can't be good./p  
p class="MsoNormal"I can't help the twitching of my stomach as he prods away at the sensitive skin around the wound. I bite my lip, ignoring the trickle of blood produced; my attention is held on resisting the urge to whimper in pain. I've given Jerome enough screams today. He begins to wipe with more force – maybe he's determined to make me cry. I won't. I can't. A jagged nail catches against my flesh and drags a yelp from me. He chuckles, proud of himself, and I dig my teeth into my lip further. Copper floods my mouth and I focus on that to distract myself. But Jerome seems to have eased up again, now that he's gotten what he wants. With a final drag of the wipe, he throws the bloodstained material onto the ground and tapes a square of gauze over the wound. I bring myself to look up again, doing so to find my skin clear of blood and the horrific mark hidden away. The sheets beneath me are still soaked in blood though, sticking to my skin with every tiny movement. br /"Shouldn't you stitch it up?" It's a big cut, and deep – I'm not a medical expert, but as I feel it shift under the bandage I can tell that it shouldn't be left to heal on its own. Jerome snorts, shaking his /"Yeah, sure. I'll stitch up the massive cut in your stomach. I'm sure that'll go exactly to plan." He rolls his eyes at me, and I realise how stupid that sounds. I don't want Jerome or any of his followers coming anywhere near me with a needle. That would probably just increase the risk of infection and the damage done. "I'll try to get a doctor in, but you know how difficult it is to get an appointment these days. You got health insurance?" He feigns sincerity for a second, before peals of laughter break free at his own joke. Before I can stop myself a slight giggle escapes. I catch myself before going any further, horrified at my response. emIt's just a laugh, it's fine, it's an automatic response. /emExcept it's not just a laugh. And it's not fine. Laughter is too close to acceptance, to ease. I should not be laughing at his jokes./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Jerome picks up the knife once more, and I flinch automatically as he brings it close to my face. He smirks, and presses it against the inside of the tie holding my right hand, uncomfortably close to the vulnerable skin of my wrist. The slightest pressure and the tie buckles, freeing me. I shake my arm out, reminded of when Jerome uncuffed me only a few hours ago. I was overconfident. I thought that I had it all sorted out, that I would be able to get away easily. I didn't account for my own cowardice; my own weakness. He piles the knife, hammer and first aid kit haphazardly onto the trolley before he drops a plastic water bottle next to my free hand. After he leaves, the heavy door slamming and locking behind him, I flick it open and begin to down it, continuing until water spills out of my mouth and down my cheeks. Swallowing roughly, I close the bottle and let it fall beside me, still within my reach. I turn my head to the side, fully prepared to sleep forever, and find Jerome's gloves left there, soaked in my blood. I bring up my free hand, wanting to throw them away from me and forget that he was ever here, but I can't find the strength to do it. Instead I touch the damp material, blood immediately staining my fingers, and shift to rest my hand against the covered wound. The weight of it is comforting, soothing somehow, and I leave it there as I drift off into unconsciousness./p 


	16. Waking Nightmare

p class="MsoNormal"emI'm not sure how long I've been tied up. After the first day, when Jerome replaced the zip ties with handcuffs, everything has bled together like a dream. I don't want to pay attention; I don't want to remember. My punishment goes further than the torn flesh, the permanent reminder of my mistakes – I'm down to one meal a day, which I am fed like a child. My wound is cleaned daily, usually by Jerome. He doesn't talk to me anymore. He tried to the first few days, but I refused to acknowledge him. I don't want to just ignore him, but what am I supposed to say? I don't forgive him, I won't forgive him. But it could be worse. It could be so much worse./em/p  
p class="MsoNormal"emI'm dozing when I hear the familiar creak of the door opening and closing. Confused, I turn my head to see Jerome entering. He's already been in once today, and there's nothing in his hands. Usually I would turn away from him, pretend he isn't there, but this change to routine heightens my attention. Has something happened? Is he going to do something else to me? He notices the way I follow his movements immediately, smirking as his eyes lock with mine, but I still don't look away. I hesitate to speak, but my curiosity /"Why are you here?" He grins, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed, which in turn sends a jolt of pain through my abdomen, making me /"So you're giving up on the silent treatment?" I nod, not trusting my voice. He takes a strand of my hair in his fingers, holding it to the light and letting it run through. I watch him silently, still waiting for him to answer my question. "I wanted…" He seems to resist what he's saying, dropping my hair to run a hand through his own. "I wanted to apologise, for this," He taps on the bandage, making me flinch involuntarily. Surprisingly, the contact doesn't hurt. I don't even feel it. "I- you didn't deserve it." Where is this coming from? Does he actually feel guilty? Or is he just trying to manipulate me in another way? The softness should scare me, but I'm calm. I trust him. If he was manipulating me, if he was lying, he wouldn't be stuttering like that. I've never seen Jerome nervous – usually he is the epitome of confidence – but I think this is it. br /"I don't forgive you," I tell him, and his face sinks in disappointment as he stands up, preparing to leave. Before he can step away, I grab his arm and hold on tight. "Wait." He turns to look at me, eyebrows raised in an unspoken question. "I don't forgive you, but I can deal with it." My voice is steady, calm almost, as I speak to him; as I summon the courage to say the two words that are fighting me. "Don't go." Jerome doesn't hesitate before he sits back down on the edge of the bed. My hand falls from his arm as he leans over me, a key appearing in his hand. Clearly he's retained some of the magic tricks from the night he was murdered. He unlocks the cuff holding my wrist, letting me sit up and stretch. I groan from the soothing ache as my spine stretches. He sits back, but there is only about a foot of space between us. I find myself glancing at his lips, at the scars marring his face. I suddenly feel the overpowering urge to touch them, feel them, and I don't resist. Before I can stop myself I reach out, fingers brushing against the join in his face. It's rough, dry, uncared for. He closes his eyes. Vulnerable. I keep going, tracing the outline of his face before moving on to the circles around his eyes. These scars are lighter, thinner than the thick raised skin I felt before. As I feel him his eyelids flutter, a slight gasp escaping from him. I smirk slightly, impressed by the effect that I have him. Proud. My hand moves to the corner of his mouth, fingers dancing over the delicate split in his skin. The permanent smile. "You know, I lied." br /"Oh, yeah?" The movement of his lips jolts my fingers away, and I let them hover over his skin, suddenly unsure. His eyes are open now, staring at me, and he places his hand over mine, guiding my fingers back to his face. br /"When you kissed me. I did think about it. I couldn't stop thinking about it." The truth pours out of me, an unstoppable tide. "Well, until you stabbed me."br /"Bit of a mood killer, huh?"br /"Just a bit, yeah." I giggle, for once unashamed. br /"But before that?" He's enjoying this. But so am /"Well," My eyes flicker down to his lips, and his gaze imitates mine, "Maybe I should just show you…"br /Before Jerome can respond I lean forward, slipping my hand down to grip his jaw as our lips meet. For a moment its soft, gentle, until Jerome realises what's happening and grabs the back of my head, pulling me closer until our noses bump together. I laugh into the kiss, and a deep chuckle rumbles through Jerome. The energy in the room grows darker as Jerome drags his teeth against my lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. I groan at the sensation, new and unfamiliar, yet exhilarating. I lift my other hand and press it against his chest, winding it into his shirt in a desperate attempt to drag our bodies closer together. One hand moves to my hair, fingers twisting it into his grip, forcing my head to the side. He releases my lips, moving instead to press against my style="mso-spacerun: yes;" /spanA moan escapes me as he begins to suck and bite at the tender flesh, marking me once more. But now, I don't mind. All I can think about is how good it feels, how I never want him to stop. The hand that isn't in my hair shifts to my waist, guiding me down so I am lying back against the bed, Jerome hovering over me. He doesn't stop working at my neck, and I can't stop the whines that slip out of my mouth. I move my hands, fisting them in his hair and pushing him closer to my neck. He laughs at my desperation, the vibrations running through my body. The hand on my waist slips further down, curving around my hip, and I-/em/p  
p class="MsoNormal"The bang of a door echoing in the distance snaps me awake. I'm trembling; a sheen of sweat coating my skin, goose-bumps covering every expanse. emWhat the fuck was that? /emI can still feel the ghost of Jerome's body against mine. I lift my hand and press it against my neck, feeling the skin my imagination wanted him to mark. emWants /emhim to mark. My resolve is weakening, and this… this does not help. I glance up at the camera, dreading the idea that Jerome may have been watching me dream. Logically I know that there's a chance he wasn't watching, and even if he was there's no way that he could know what I was dreaming of. But I feel like he'll know. As soon as he looks at me, speaks to me, he'll know./p  
p class="MsoNormal"When I hear the grinding of the lock I quickly turn my head to the side, eyes closed, imitating sleep. If I see Jerome now… I don't know what I'll do. Footsteps. The door slamming shut. It takes every ounce of willpower not to flinch. I try to keep my breathing steady, and to ignore the movement next to me. A warm hand shifts my top to expose the bandage, which is quickly ripped off carelessly. I hiss at the pain, but keep my eyes closed, preparing for him to start cleaning. But he doesn't. Jerome's fingers poke at it, almost as though he is trying to pull it open. A rush of warm air brushes over the wound and, before I can process what's happening, his tongue drags over the cut. I immediately drop the pretence, opening my eyes to push him away from me. It's not Jerome. I shove at the dark head of hair hovering over my stomach and he backs away in shock. My wide eyes examine the man standing before me. One of his followers. Did Jerome let him in? Why is he here? His shock quickly dissipates and he grabs my wrist, forcing my free hand onto the mattress. I go to scream, although I know it won't do any good, but as soon as the noise escapes past my lips he slaps me. Hard. All the air in my lungs escapes, leaving me breathless. Before I can recover his hand covers my mouth, muffling me. br /"There's no one to help you," He begins to climb on top of me, straddling my waist as he holds me down. Despite the hand over my mouth I continue my protests, writhing under him in an attempt to knock him off. "No one here cares what happens to you. And Jerome's away. No one to stop me." He cackles joyfully as his face approaches mine, pungent breath washing over me. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to turn away from him as he pulls his tongue down the side of my face. He releases my mouth, clearly confident in the apathy of the others in the building, and grabs at my chest. I scream as loud as I can, an incoherent mix of pleas for help, for him to stop, desperate attempts at threats. He captures my mouth in his, all teeth and spit and disgust. I bite at him, but he just pushes closer, his entire weight on top of me. Tears begin to form at the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to stop fighting, despite the restraints holding me down./p  
p class="MsoNormal"emBANG. /em/p  
p class="MsoNormal"The sound echoes in my ears, ringing around the room. Something wet hits my face, wet and hot, the now-familiar taste of blood in my mouth. Not my blood. His. The body lies limp on top of me, head now a bloody cavern. I feel bile rising in my stomach, and I turn my head to vomit. Sick hits the side of the bed, falling to the floor, and dribbles down the side of my face, mixing with the gore from the man's death. The body is dragged off of me, and I look back to find Jerome, fury filling his face. He drops the dead follower onto the ground, and shoots the body twice more. I'm still shaking. All thought of my dream is gone, overpowered by the fear of what he had been planning to do to me – what he would have done if Jerome hadn't saved me. I barely register him grabbing my hair and moving my head from side to side; I guess checking for any new damage. How he can tell anything underneath the blood coating my face, I don't know, but he seems /"Right, let's go." He quickly unlocks the handcuffs holding me down and stands back, but I don't stand up. I can't move. My mind is spinning. Everything that could have happened is running through my thoughts in an indiscernible whirlwind. Jerome sighs in frustration and grabs my shoes, dropping them onto the floor before he hauls me up by my arm. I move on autopilot, pulling them on and tying them while Jerome takes my jacket, which he throws down beside me. He seems restless, hurried, almost panicked. I stand as I slip on my jacket, my movements useless and unsteady. br /"Where are we going?" He grabs my arm, grip tight on my bicep, and he pulls me out into the corridor. He doesn't speak as we stride through the building and down stairs until we are outside. I lift my arm to defend my sensitive eyes from the bright sun. It's the first time I've seen daylight since I got here – I've missed it. Jerome pushes me into the back of one of the many vans sitting waiting and follows me in, sitting next to me on the floor. As soon as he is in the van starts driving, the door slamming closed by the movement. From the sounds outside, all of the other vans have also started driving. This must be big. As Jerome grabs my wrists, another set of zip ties in hand, he begins to talk. br /"Someone has seen fit to challenge my authority. Saying that I've killed you and I'm using you as an excuse to take a break." He sounds angry. Even angrier than all the times I've tried to escape, or tried to lie. br /"So, you're going to show them you've still got me." br /"Exactly. You're my evidence." He finishes binding my wrists, checking to make sure they're tight, and his eyes flick down to my stomach. "Shit." I follow his gaze to find my shirt stained with fresh, sticky blood. The wound must have reopened. I press my bound hands against it, doing my best to put pressure on it. br /"It's fine. Doesn't hurt." At this point I have become numb to the pain. I'm still reeling from everything that's happened. It's all too much. "Why?"br /"Why what?" He sounds exasperated, but whether it's with me or with whoever's challenging him I can't tell. br /"Why did you kill him? Why… did you save me?" I look down, embarrassed by the question, but Jerome takes my chin in his hand and turns my head to look him in the eye. Our noses are almost touching. br /"Because, Harleen, no matter if you'll admit it," He leans closer, eyes boring into mine. I glance quickly down at his lips, and he notices, smiling. "You are mine. And only mine."/p 


	17. Escape

p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"We're in the city, at a warehouse that appears long abandoned. Jerome leads me inside, flanked by half of his followers, armed to the teeth with guns, machetes, and countless other weapons. The rest stay behind, guarding the perimeter. The sound of the door slamming shut echoes around the cavernous room as we weave through the towering shelves and crates. Jerome's grip is tight on my arm, unrelenting, but I don't struggle. It would be futile. We turn a corner and enter a wide-open space – there is already a group of people waiting for us. Men, more than Jerome has, and at their front – Oswald Cobblepot. The Penguin. He's as infamous as Jerome, if not more, but he is a far different breed of criminal. Organised crime, a carefully curated reputation, planning and scheming – the exact opposite of Jerome's erratic acts of chaos. I suddenly become hyperaware of the complete state I'm in: hair tangled and caked in gore, bruised from head to toe, and a bloody stain on my shirt from the still-sticky wound. I shift on my feet as we come to a stop, /"So it's true? This is where your attention's been?" If the word 'disdain' was a person, it would be Penguin – he radiates it with every movement, every glance, every sneer. I lift my conjoined hands, waving with /"Hi." Attention caught, he looks over at me, taking in my dishevelled appearance. His nose crinkles in disgust as he addresses Jerome. br /"Clearly you are a less than generous host, Mr Valeska."br /"Well, this isn't your typical hostage situation, emMr Penguin/em." He mocks, clearly seeking to antagonise him – and succeeding. His arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me close into his body, and I /"That's an understatement," I mutter, trying to keep as much distance between our bodies as I can – but all I do is make him hold on tighter. br /"I'm sure you're aware of the large sum being offered for Miss Quinzel's safe return?" Penguin questions, hobbling forward slightly as he speaks. I furrow my brows slightly, but then I realise the desperation my parents must be feeling. They're not above using their money to protect our family. br /"Yeah, yeah. She's got some rich parents, don't cha?" He shakes me by my shoulders and I push away from him, sick of the feeling of his arm against me. Strangely, he relents, letting me stand slightly to the side. "But this isn't about money. This is personal." I glare at him, seething silently at the idea – the fact – of there being anything personal between us. br /"I see. Well, if you won't take advantage of it," Oswald raises a hand, cueing his men to raise their weapons, "Then I will." My eyes widen, and all I can process is Jerome pushing me to the side as gunshots fill the air. With my hands bound and my mind scattered, I can't catch myself as I fall. Pain blasts through my skull as my forehead knocks against a crate. Blood fills my vision, pouring over my eyebrow and into my eye, and I quickly try to wipe it away. My back is against the floor, a small pile of boxes defending my body from Penguin's men. The firefight seems to mostly be between the two criminals back-up, as Penguin has retreated to fire from a distance and Jerome has ducked behind the shelves we entered past. I roll onto my front, pushing myself clumsily onto my knees. Directly opposite me is a door. A door. For a moment I think I might be hallucinating. There is no way I am this lucky. But it's there. Right there. A way out. An escape. I just need to be brave enough to take it. I scramble to my feet, sprinting towards it. I hear a yell of "Hey!" from behind me, a gunshot that seems to echo louder than the rest. A heavy shove in my shoulder, pushing me to the ground. I go numb, blocking out everything except for the door in front of me. As I clamber back to my feet I can hear Jerome screaming from behind me, the sound muffled and dull. When I reach the door, after what feels like hours of running, I turn back, though I'm not sure what for. I see Jerome staring at me, oblivious to the violence filling the room. There's a bloody stain on his shirt sleeve. He isn't coming after me. Just watching, an unexplainable mix of emotions spread across his scarred face. A pang of guilt shoots through me, but I can't stop. I slam the door open, escaping through it into the cool evening air of Gotham city. And I run. I try to head to the centre of the city, sprinting through alleyways and down streets. My head is spinning, probably from blood loss. I trip over the uneven ground, landing heavily on my wrists. I scream as my right hand bends backwards awkwardly. I struggle back up, setting off at a slower pace now that I'm far enough away from the warehouse. I'm not sure where in Gotham I am, but I know that I can't stop moving. Nowhere is safe for an unconscious girl on the streets. After so long in captivity, being outside on my own is a strange feeling. As I stumble down an alley, exhaustion suddenly takes over. I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath so I can keep going, but I end up sliding down to sit on the dirty ground. Just a minute. Then I'll keep going. Just a minute…/p  
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p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"A black haze clouds my brain, weighing me down in sleep. I'm lying down, on something soft, my back propped up at an angle. There's a stinging above my eyebrow, which draws me awake to bright light and a figure leaning over me. I flinch away, lashing out at whoever it is. She quickly backs off, avoiding my lethargic attempt at self-defence. br /"Good, you're awake." She turns her back to me, clearly unafraid, and opens up a cupboard, revealing it to be practically bare. A bottle pulled out and placed on the counter, and she turns back to face me. She's pretty, very pretty, with long dark hair hanging over her shoulders. Something in me recognises her, but I'm not sure where I could know her from. br /"Where am I?" My voice is raspy, sore, and she offers me a glass of water which I gladly accept. As I reach out I notice the IV sticking out of my arm, leading to a bag of blood hooked on a stand next to me. The woman removes the tape holding it in and places a cotton ball over the entry point before she removes it from my arm. I take the cotton ball from her and hold it down, making sure to keep the pressure on the small scratch. br /"You're in the Narrows. My name is Lee Thompkins, I'm a doctor." That's where I know her /"You were at the hospital gala… You used to date Jim Gordon." She sighs at his name, taking the now empty glass from me and placing it on the counter. br /"Yeah, that's me. Do you remember what happened to you?" br /"How much do you want to know?" I chuckle. "I was kidnapped, tortured, and when Jerome took me to a meeting with Penguin I managed to escape." I look down at my hands, finding my right wrist strapped into a brace. I guess the fall did a decent amount of damage. "How long since…?"br /"Three weeks, almost." Lee continues examining the cut in my forehead. "Seems like you've been through some real shit." br /"You could say that," I run a hand through my hair, grimacing at the feeling of blood and sick dried into it. br /"I'm going to need to look at that bullet wound in your shoulder, check out the damage." emWait, what?br /em"Bullet wound? I got shot?" That must have been the shove I felt. It makes sense now. br /"Yeah," Lee begins to pull out a tray of medical equipment, setting it up beside the bed. "Lots of people don't notice when they're shot, it's not surprising that you didn't." I'm finally aware of the aching in my shoulder, like a million tiny pinpricks emanating from one spot. "I'm sorry to tell you that we don't have much anaesthetic down here, and we already gave you a blood transfusion, so-"br /"It's fine, I'll live." I pull off my blood-soaked top as she adjusts the bed so that it lays flat. I hiss at the sudden spikes of pain in my shoulder and stomach but ignore them to lie down flat on my front. "What happened to your bra? Did Jerome-?" The broken wire. With everything that had happened, I'd forgotten about my grand escape plan. It seems so idiotic now. br /"No, that was all me. I was planning on picking the lock on my handcuffs, and then the door." br /"Right." Lee steps away for a moment, pulling something out of a drawer. "Here." She hands me a belt, folded in half, and I put it between my teeth, steadying myself for the inevitable pain. It seems that all I do now is wait for the pain to start, and to end./p  
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p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""I'm done." emThank fuck. Finally. /emI let Lee help me up, pulling the belt out of my mouth. The dull ache now sitting in my shoulder is nothing compared to the pain of removing the bullet, of cleaning it and stitching it back up. At least it's over. "There shouldn't be any significant permanent damage, other than scarring. You're a lucky girl, Harleen." br /"Yeah, I feel so lucky right now," I grumble. In the grand scheme of things she's right, but that doesn't change how much shit I've had to deal with. Lee just smiles sympathetically as she takes out a new set of equipment. She returns to the cut on my forehead, which now feels like a scratch compared to everything else. I barely feel it as she cleans and stitches my forehead together. She then moves to the bloody messy on my stomach. As she wipes away the blood that's pooled and dried, she realises what it /"Oh, shit." br /"Yeah." She looks up at me, horror in her eyes. br /"Jerome did this?" She tries to portray an air of calm as she starts to disinfect it, but there is a slight tremor in her voice. br /"After my second escape attempt. He was going to break my legs, but he decided this would be more… fitting." The apathy in my voice scares me, how matter of fact I am as I talk about the torture inflicted on me during my captivity. br /"At least he didn't try to stitch it. I don't want to imagine what kind of disaster that would've been." I can't stop myself from laughing at the unintentional agreement with Jerome's intentions. Lee looks up at me, almost concerned, and I shake my head. br /"Yeah. Definitely not good." Ten minutes and a neat row of stitches, she's now cleaning the mostly-healed cut in my hand. The pain doesn't register as I watch her work, methodical and precise. We're both so focused on the task at hand that neither of us notice when the door to the makeshift doctor's office is opened, and someone begins to walk down the stairs. It's only the sound of the unfamiliar voice that makes me turn my head. br /"We've had a good night, Lee. Grundy just keeps bringing in more money." A man with dark hair wearing a green suit comes in, cash in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. The smile on his face immediately drops when he sees me sitting there. I lift my free hand and wave, trying to ignore the fact that I'm sitting there with just a bra on my top half. "Lee, you do realise who this is?"br /"Yes, that's why I'm treating her." She continues to work, seemingly uncaring at the man's entrance. br /"Jerome Valeska is looking for her. Word is he's furious. You really want to bring him here, to the clinic?" He drops the money and bag on a table, rounding the bed to stand next to Lee. It's as if I'm not even here. br /"Well, he's not going to know she's here, so that won't be an issue. Will it, Ed?" She drops the cotton wool she was using into a tray, turning to face him. He huffs, glancing at me with /"No, I guess not." He turns away, going to pour himself a cup of coffee from the pot at the other end of the room. Lee turns back, eyes running over my body. br /"Anything else I need to look at?" br /"I don't think so. Just the insane number of bruises. I should probably get going. Head to the GCPD." Lee smiles and nods, helping me to stand up. br /"I'll go grab your jacket and shoes. I'd offer you new clothes, but we don't really have any to spare." br /"Don't worry about it," I reassure her. I can last a bit longer in what I'm wearing. "And I'll make sure you get paid for your help. You do good work here." We can definitely afford to compensate her. She didn't need to do this. br /"Thank you. I'll be back in a moment." She disappears up the stairs, leaving me alone with Ed and his coffee. I start to pull my top back on, watching him from the corner of my eye. br /"Don't worry, I'm leaving," I joke, as he steadfastly ignores me. "Jerome won't come calling. He'll probably go back to trying to kill Bruce soon enough anyway." He just stares at me, and I give him a sarcastic smile as I hear Lee coming back down the stairs. "Nice talking to you." She hands me my shoes, which I promptly pull on, before handing me my jacket. br /"Sorry, I didn't want to risk trying to fix it." The expensive leather has been torn apart at the back, ripped to shreds. br /"It's okay. It's just a jacket."br /"A jacket that costs more than anyone here makes in a year. In a lifetime maybe." There's a bite to her tone, and despite the exaggeration, I can't say I blame her or disagree. My life is so superficial. And I don't appreciate it nearly enough. I pull it on, ignoring the breeze behind my shoulder, and zip it up. I turn to face Lee and Ed, reinvigorated and ready to get /"So, how do I get to the GCPD from here?"/p  
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p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"On my walk to the GCPD, I gain more than a few strange looks. But when I walk in and approach the desk sergeant, I am not even spared a glance, even when I knock against the solid wood of the desk. br /"How can I help you?" He's disinterested, his on the newspaper crossword in front of /"I'd like to speak to the detective looking for Harleen Quinzel."br /"And I'd like a decent cup of coffee. If you have information, fill out this form and hand it back. Thank you." He takes a piece of paper and drops it in front of me without looking. I pick it up, barely glancing over it before I drop it back on top of his crossword and lean /"You know, your boss is gonna be really pissed off if you don't help me right now." I know I should be polite, patient, cooperative, but I do not have the time or the energy. br /"Look, sweetheart -" Finally, he looks up, and a flash of shock and recognition appears across his face. He drops his pencil. "Shit. Oh, shit! Gordon!" He shouts past me, and I follow his gaze to see a man who I immediately recognise: Jim Gordon. A face that's always in the news for some heroic or another. Upon hearing his name Gordon looks in our direction, his mouth forming a silent "Oh" at the sight of me. He drops the files in his hand, running down the short flight of stairs with another man following close /"Harleen. You…? How…?" He seems shocked. /"I'll tell you everything. But first, I need a change of clothes. And a hairbrush." br /"Right." He looks over his shoulder at the man standing behind him, who is staring at me agape. "Harvey, call her parents." He turns back to me and puts a hand on my shoulder, guiding me past the holding cells into a corridor. "We'll get you some clothes, Miss Quinzel. And a hairbrush."/p 


	18. Back To Reality

p class="MsoNormal"A coffee sits steaming in front of me, warming my hands. I have been given an old jumper and some frayed jeans, but they are infinitely better than what Jerome had me wearing. Across from me sits Detective Gordon, with an open file and a pad of paper. I drag the brush through my hair a final time, satisfied that I've got the worse of it out, and I set it down to look at Gordon. br /"So, where should I start?" br /"Do you have any idea why Jerome took you captive?" I hesitate, the instinct to lie almost /"I- We have… history. We met twice before he attacked the school." I look down at my hands. br /"Can you tell me about those times?" He takes down everything I'm saying, straight lines of neat /"The most recent was at Arkham, on a school trip. We spoke a little. Before that… We met the night he killed his mother, at the circus." Every time I think about that night it becomes clearer in my memory. The smell of popcorn and candyfloss, the chill of the night air, Jerome's hand in mine. "He's obsessed with me. He thinks I'm like him."br /"Why does he think that?" Gordon leans back in his chair, tapping the pen against the desk /"I don't know… He said I'm scared of who I really am…" I shrug. I still don't understand what Jerome sees in me, what makes him think that I could ever be like him. br /"Are you? Scared of who you really are?" Gordon questions. I raise my eyebrows in disbelief at the idea that Jerome might be /"No, of course not. And who I really am is nothing like Jerome." I glare at him, frustrated, more at myself than at Gordon. He shuffles the paper in front of him, looking through the information gathered while I was missing. I catch glimpses of photos, of me and of Jerome, and some of his /"What happened while Jerome had you prisoner?" He readies his pen, watching me for my answer. I fidget with the mug in front of me, resistant to the idea of reliving everything that happened. br /"I was taken from the school, blindfolded, and taken out of the city; I assume to Jerome's base. Jerome spoke to me and then left me tied to a chair. I tried to escape, but he caught me and choked me until I blacked out." I'm sure Gordon wants more detail, or more feeling, or something, but talking about it as though it's a series of facts is the only thing stopping me from having a complete meltdown. "I woke up handcuffed to a bed. Jerome brought me food and water, and spoke to me again. He… kissed me." emAnd I kissed him./em Gordon's face darkens upon hearing this and he makes a very deliberate note on the paper. "A few days later I was allowed to shower and given new clothes. It was difficult to keep track of time, but another day or two and Jerome came back. He took me up to the roof, and I attacked him." Vivid images from that night begin to flash through my brain: the handstand, Jerome's arms wrapped around me, my hand holding a knife to his throat. I was a coward. "I could have killed him. It would have been so easy just to do it. But I didn't."br /"That's nothing to feel guilty about, Harleen. Killing isn't easy," Gordon tries to reassure me, and I make sure I act as though I agree with him, "And it changes you."br /"I know. But things could have turned out so differently if I had." emFor better or for worse? /em"Then he tortured me. Stabbed me. That was a week ago. Yesterday… one of his men attacked me. I… I think he was going to rape me. Jerome killed him, and then we left. He took me to the industrial side of the city, where we met Penguin." br /"Trying to collect the reward?" Gordon sighs. Another note. "You seem to have gathered a lot of interest, Harleen."br /"Yeah, seems that way." My voice is bitter. "There was a fight, and I managed to escape, but I got shot. I collapsed in the Narrows, where Lee Thompkins found me. She stitched me up. Then I walked here, and…" My hands are shaking as span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"I lift the coffee to my mouth, the warmth soothing me. Hearing it all at once is overwhelming. How did I survive? And how can I keep going, knowing what happened to me, what people are capable of? br /"Okay." Gordon puts down his pen and reaches over the desk, placing a reassuring hand on my arm. I flinch away. "Harleen, I know this has been traumatising-"br /"Oh, you know, do you? How could you possibly know how I feel?" I stand up, pushing my chair away from the table. "You think you understand? You think you know what Jerome did to me?" I grab the hem of my jumper and pull it up, revealing the "J" carved into my stomach. Gordon's mouth falls open, horror evident on his face. "This is what he did to me. He branded me, marked me as his. I can never escape him now. Why couldn't you find me?!" I'm past the breaking point now, every emotion flooding out of me. "Why did I have to rescue myself?!" A cry escapes my lips. My cheeks are wet, and I swipe at the tears falling down my face. Gordon stands up, quickly circling the table to stand in front of me and he wraps his arms around me. I fall apart, sobbing into his shirt, everything from the past three weeks spilling out as this stranger comforts me. br /"We're going to get him, Harleen. I promise."br /spanem style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"Don't make promises you can't keep./em/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"*/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"I follow Gordon back out into the bullpen and immediately catch sight of my parents. br /"Mom!" Upon hearing my voice my parents turn in my direction, joy and relief evident in their smiles. I push past Gordon, running past the decks and engulfing my mother in a hug. I squeeze tight, scared that if I don't she'll disappear, and I'll wake up still chained to that bed. I feel my father's arms wrap around the both of us. I'm done crying, so I start laughing. The pain is hidden by the joy at reuniting with my family. I let go of my mother, and see my sister standing behind her, staring at the cut on my forehead. br /"Wren," I take her face in my hands, almost unable to believe that she's here, that I'm here. I hug her, one hand stroking her hair. br /"Harleen," I turn around to find Bruce and Alfred, standing awkwardly, as though they don't want to interrupt my reunion. I take in Bruce, his tired eyes, unbrushed hair, the tic in his jaw. br /"You look like shit," I joke, and he lets out a strained laugh. I step back as I am suddenly enveloped in his arms. I feel tears prick my eyes again, and I return the hug, holding /"This is my fault." He's crying, my shoulder damp. "I'm so sorry, Harleen." I let go of him, taking his shoulders and pushing him back so I can look him in the /"It's not your fault Bruce." He shakes his head, eyes rimmed with red. "It is not your fault. Jerome said it himself; he was going to come looking for me anyway. He doesn't even know we know each other." At least he didn't before; now, I'm not so /"Good to have you back, Miss." Alfred, stoic has ever, lets out a small smile. I nod to him, returning it. br /"Good to be back." br /"Harleen," I turn back to my mother, who wraps me in another hug. "Detective Gordon said that we can go home. They're going to have officers on the house. You'll be safe."em Will I be safe? /em/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"emIs that what I want?/em/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"*/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"Two officers at the front. Two at the back. A new security system. Electronic locks and motion sensors at every window. Cameras at the entrances. Lights on timers. Safe. Secure. Another prison. Less handcuffs and zipties; I'm free to roam – but I feel no less trapped. I walk quietly through the house, a ghost in the hallways, numb to my mothers desperate attempts to fill the silence I've /"We've found a very good trauma counsellor, very experienced-"br /"I don't need counselling, mom." I interrupt, coming to a stop in the kitchen. I look out at the garden through the window, examining the flowers and trees I used to play in. br /"Harleen," she please, "You've been through a very difficult time. You- You were-" She's stuttering. She can't get the word out, she won' /"Say it, mom." I spin around, forcing her to look me in the eye. "I was kidnapped. I was tortured. I was held captive by an insane criminal, and I escaped. I know what happened to me; I don't need help processing it, or understanding it, or moving past it." br /"We never should have come back to Gotham. This is the exact reason we left."br /"You can't change the past. We're here, shit happened, we deal with it." Usually she would tell me off for my language – now, I don't think she even hears me. I walk past her, meeting my father and Wren in the front room. She lifts a hand and touches her eyebrow, gesturing to mine. br /"Does it hurt?" Her voice trenches, just /"No," I lie, "I can barely feel it." It aches, a constant pain deep in my head. I refused the pain killers they offered me. I want it to hurt. I want to feel the sting above my eyebrow, the sharpness in my shoulder when I move, the constant burn of my stomach. I need it to hurt. I need to feel. My mother has followed me in, a box held in her arms. br /"Well, if you won't consider counselling, maybe you'll consider this?" There's a hint of venom in her voice, but I brush it aside. I lift the lid of the box to find-br /"A puppy!" I squeal, lifting the ball of black fuzz out of the box and cuddling it. I think it's a Rottweiler from what I can see of it as it wriggles in my arms, excited by the /"You're mother and I thought a pet would be good for you. Her name's Pudding."br /"You're such a good girl, aren't you Puddin'?" She yaps at me, licking my face, and I set her down at my feet. I sit on my knees, cuddling her and scratching behind her ears. "So, is she a guard dog or a therapy pet?" I asked. My parents exchange a glance, and my father hesitates before he answers. br /"We were thinking a bit of both. She's had some guard dog training, and we've got permission for you to take her to school."br /"Speaking of school, they've increased their security, but we can get you a bodyguard if that will make you feel safer?" She doesn't try to hide the worry in her voice, the fear. br /"Yeah, I'm sure a bodyguard at school will help me fit right back in." I look up from Puddin' at my mother. She doesn't appreciate the sarcasm. "I'll be fine." br /"You won't be walking anymore, either. We've arranged for you and Wren to have a chauffeur."br /"What?" I stand up, leaving Puddin' at my feet. "We don't need a chauffeur. I didn't get kidnapped on my way to school, I got kidnapped /spanem style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"at /emspan style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"school."br /"Harleen! This is not a joke!" My mother snaps, her face like /"I'm not saying it is!"br /"You have two options here: have a chauffeur escort you, or we are leaving Gotham. Your choice." I glare at /"So I'll have no freedom? No independence?" I can't believe her. She can't do /"If that means having you safe? Yes."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"*/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"I've been free for a week. And now I'm back at school, like nothing happened, like nothing's changed; except everything has. I can feel their eyes on me, staring as I walk through the corridors. Whispers, floating in the air around me. br /"Is that her?"br /"Look at her face…"br /"I bet she's fucked up."br /"Who wouldn't be?"br /It's all making me more than a bit self-conscious. I keep my eyes fixed on the ground, fidgeting with my skirt. I have a thick jumper on instead of my jacket, hiding the bandages on my stomach and shoulder. Anything to make myself less visible. Puddin' follows at my feet, quietly watching the people around us. Her presence is a comfort, a certainty in the chaos of real life. Part of me, a tiny part, hidden in the back of my mind, longs for the peace and simplicity of the room where I was kept. But I know that's a lie. There was nothing peaceful or simple about being Jerome's prisoner. It was dangerous, terrifying, exhilarating, thrilling, exciting-/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"Stop!/em/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"I can't think like that. I can't think about what happened as anything other than horrific. I need to push those thoughts way, lock them up in my mind where they can't escape. If they do, then it's a step closer to Jerome winning. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"I stop outside the principal's office and knock on the door. She phoned the house last night, asking for me to come and see her before class. It's opened almost immediately, and she smiles warmly at me, holding out her arm and ushering me in. br /"It's good to see you, Miss Quinzel." I sit down in the chair in front of the desk, clicking my tongue for Puddin' to sit next to me. The principal sits across from me, the smile fixed on her /"You can just call me Harleen." I shift in the chair, unable to get comfortable. br /"Okay, Harleen." She picks up a few sheets of paper from her desk and shuffles them. "I thought it was important that we have a discussion about how your return to school would be carried out. We want to make sure it's as smooth as possible."br /"Look, I just want to get back to normal. No special treatment, no exemptions, nothing like that." I already thought about all this. I can't wallow in what happened to me. I just need for real life to start again. No more thinking about Jerome. br /"I completely understand. And as long as you're comfortable with that, and you don't feel overwhelmed, that's what we'll do." br /"Great, thanks." I go to stand up, but I stop for a second. I know I shouldn't ask, that there are other ways I could find out, but I don't want to hear it as a fact. I need to hear it from her. "How many… how many people were killed?" Her face falls, for a split second showing the devastation Jerome's attack must have left. br /"Three." She stands up to show me to the door, opening it. I follow her, walking into the corridor still busy with students. "And Harleen -" I turn around, tilting my head slightly, wondering what else she has to say. "It would have been more if it wasn't for you." I nod, trying not to let the drop of my stomach show on my face. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"*/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"I struggle to open my locker with the pile of papers and assignments in my arms. I eventually succeed, coughing at the stale smell. I shove everything in, with little care to how they're arranged. I begin to switch the textbooks in my bag for the ones stored away. br /"Excuse me? You're Harleen, right?" I sigh, rolling my eyes and preparing for the interrogation. I had been expecting this from the moment I walked into the building, but until now no one's been brave enough to talk to me until now. I slam my locker shut, turning to face the girl standing next to me. She looks familiar, but I'm not sure where /"Yes, I am." I snap. "What do you want?" She starts at my tone, but stands strong. br /"I wanted to say thank you." br /"Thank you?" What -" Oh. That's who she is. She's the girl Jerome was going to kill. She's the girl I saved. I stammer, the sharp edge in my voice immediately dissipating. "Oh. I- You don't have to-"br /"No, I do." Now that I've softened, she does too. "You sacrificed yourself to save me. You didn't have to do that." br /spanem style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"I didn't do it for you. /emspan style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"The voice in my head shouts. /spanem style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"I didn't sacrifice myself. /emspan style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"br /"Look, don't worry about it. I didn't even think about it." I try to laugh it /"I would be dead if it wasn't for you." She insists. "Thank you." Her courage breaks, and she swiftly walks away to rejoin her friends, all of which are staring at me. When I make eye contact with them, they look away, quickly leaving. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"I'm not a hero. I didn't stop Jerome killing her for her. I did it for me. I was selfish. I knew that Jerome was looking for me. And I wanted him to find me./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"I got what I wanted. And far more. /span/p 


	19. Less Than Stable

p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"The chauffeur – Archie – drops me and Puddin' off outside of the front doors of Wayne Manor. Bruce is waiting for me, and I hug him before I follow him in. It seems being kidnapped has made me very physically affectionate. I guess I need to know I'm not alone, or maybe I'm trying to erase the feeling of Jerome from my body. I'm failing either way./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""I'm sorry I couldn't see you sooner. My mom's got me on lockdown." We walk side by side through the hallways, following the smell of cooking. Alfred's making us lunch. "I had to fight her to let me come visit. Doesn't help that you're not coming to school." I look at him out of the corner of my eye, smirking. He looks slightly guilty, and I bump my shoulder into his gently, showing that I'm just joking. "I get it."br /"Yeah. School never seems to go well for me, and after what happened to you… Just makes more sense not to go." br /"I'm surprised my parents haven't taken me out of school." I laugh. "You know, my mom wanted to get me a bodyguard." br /"I mean, that's understandable. I've got Alfred-"br /"Alfred's your bodyguard?" I snort, thinking of the well-mannered butler in his tailored suits. br /"He was an SAS agent," Bruce tells me bluntly, and my mouth drops open slightly, eyes /"Oh. Okay. Sure." Honestly, it doesn't surprise me. The training that he and Bruce do, the quiet authority, the protectiveness. "Makes sense."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"We arrive in the kitchen to find Alfred - trained SAS agent, a killer - wearing an apron and dancing to the radio as he seasons a pot of soup. I giggle slightly, immediately covering my mouth, and making eye contact with Bruce, who's grinning at me. Alfred turns around, startled for a second before he sees that it's us. br /"Bruce, Miss Quinzel-"br /"Harleen, Alfred." I roll my eyes, leaning my elbows on the counter in the middle of the room. br /"Harleen." He nods. "How are you getting on?" The question everyone's been asking me. I still haven't figured out the answer. I'm alive. I'm safe. I'm home. But I don't feel better. I don't dream anymore, not that I can remember; but I haven't had more than a few hours sleep since I got home. I wake up in the middle of the night, in the early hours of the morning, with my heart racing and a thin layer of sweat coating my body. There's an inconceivable feeling of being watched, of someone in the room, but I know that's impossible. My door is locked, the window shut tight, curtains closed, Puddin' fast asleep at my feet. Jerome doesn't know where I live. If he did, there's no way he could get near without the guards catching him. But still, everywhere I go, I see him. Red hair makes me flinch. Laughter makes me turn my head. But even before I look I know it's not him. There's no one like Jerome. But no one wants to know about my lack of readjustment. br /"All thing considered? Good." I don't want to put all my problems on them. All the confusion in my mind. "Life's getting back to normal." emBut what's normal has /em"That's good to hear." Alfred turns back to the stove, seemingly oblivious to my lie. "And your injuries?" br /"Healing. I'm gonna have some badass scars," I chuckle, my hand automatically reaching up to rub the skin around the wound on my forehead. "I'm getting these stitches out in a few days, a couple of weeks for the other ones." The bruises have faded, leaving only the cuts and bullet wound as evidence of what I went through. The only physical evidence, at least./p  
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p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"The bell rings for lunch, jarring me out of the haze in my brain. Math before lunch is never good. I pack up slowly, not worried about getting a seat. I can't go into the cafeteria. I tried to on my first day back, but as I approached the doors bile rose in my throat. My heart racing, my mind spinning at what happened the last time I was there. I eat outside now. The corridors are mostly empty by the time I leave, the rush over. I head to my usual seat, a bench outside the front of the school. No one else comes out here at lunch. I dump my bag next to me, pulling out a book and a sandwich. The words envelop me, drowning out the rest of the world – that is until I hear voices and laughter coming from behind me. I resist the urge to look around, keeping my head down and my focus on my book. As they get closer I can make out what they're saying. It's not /"Yeah, she always sits out here." Me? Why do they care where I sit?br /"I can't believe they let her back into school."br /"Wait! There she is!" At that I lift my head, turning to look at the group of boys approaching me, laughing, pushing each other, and some of them pointing at me. I begin to put my things back in my bag, ready to hurry away from them. It's true that I've gained… some negative attention since I got back, but these guys feel different. More sinister, threatening. I recognise some of them; they're my age. As I stand up, bag in one hand, they call my name. br /"Hey! Quinzel!" I square my shoulders, turning around unamused. br /"What do you want?" I snap. Puddin' growls at my feet. They just /"Chill, we just want to talk." The blond one in front, I'm guessing the unofficial leader, raises his hands in mock /"That's nice." I go to walk past them, but he grabs my arm and pulls me to face him. "Let me go." br /"That's adorable." He sneers, and his friends laugh. I rip my arm from his grip. "Look, we just want to know how you actually escaped."br /"What's that supposed to mean? It's all in the news." I take a step back, but I bump into another one of them. They've surrounded me. br /"Sure. The official story at least. But we both know that's not true." I shake my head, trying to push my way out, but they won't let me past. "I mean, it's impossible that you just escaped." br /"Well, I did. That's what happened." I shift on my feet, my fight or flight instinct beginning to kick in. After everything, fight is beginning to feel like a far more attractive option. br /"Come on. Valeska let you go. You wanna tell us why?" I lift my head at Jerome's name, at the idea that he wanted me to get away. br /"What? You think Jerome tortured me, shot me, because he wanted me to get away?" I scoff, but he narrows his eyes. br /""Jerome" is it? Sounds very personal." He steps closer, invading my personal space. My hand starts to twitch. "You know what I think? I think you did something for him. Maybe you're a double agent. Maybe you gave him money. But I'm pretty sure I know what you did." I can feel his breath on my face. "You fucked him." My mouth falls open at the accusation, unable to form a response. I wish I could laugh at the idea that I would have sex with Jerome, but it hits far too close to the memory of Jerome kissing me, of my dream about him. The guy laughs, clearly proud of himself. "I'm right, aren't I?! You fucked him. You're probably still fucking him. Tell me, do you sneak him into your house at night? Or do you sneak out to meet him? I bet you suck his dick, don't you?"/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"I see red./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"My bag falls to the floor. A fist flies into his face, catching him by surprise. He can barely yell before I'm grabbing his blazer and throwing him to the ground. I follow, punching him again and again, numb to the pain. His friends grab at me, trying to pull me off of him, so I pause for a brief second to hit against them. There's blood under my nails. I can hear shouting. More people gathering, some yelling "fight", other's shouting for a teacher. He tries to protect his face, but the adrenaline and anger fuelling me break past. Blood spilling from his nose and lips, blood on my knuckles, both of our shirts. I can hear someone laughing as he cries. It takes a moment before I realise that it's me. I'm laughing. Strong hands grab at me, pulling me to my feet and away from him. I struggle against them. My cheeks are wet. People surround him, a teacher helping him sit up, and he and his friends glare as I am pulled away./p  
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p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Ice packs on my knuckles. I sit in the principal's office, my face drawn. I can't believe what I did. I'm not a violent person. I'm not aggressive. I don't attack people. But I don't regret it. He deserved it. Saying what he did. I was defending myself, the only way I could think how. br /"This can't be let go, Harleen." I look up at Ms White, sitting across from me with her fingers interlocked and jaw clenched. "You attacked someone."br /"He was saying things. Lies." She won't understand. She can't. "I didn't know how to make him stop." br /"So you decided to beat his face in?" She leans back, arms crossed. She's disappointed in me. It's obvious. "This is unacceptable behaviour."br /"Look, I'm sorry. I'll apologise to him, too. It won't happen again." br /"That's not enough, Harleen. Kenneth's parents are asking for severe discipline. We have two courses of action we can take: we get the police involved, which is what his parents want, or we expel you." She's not happy about this. But she has no choice. Choice is a luxury in Gotham. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Being treated like I'm dangerous, like a criminal, when he was the one that started it. I get punished, and he gets away with a few bruises to brag about. I don't see the point in fighting them. There's part of me that doesn't even care at this /"I'll save you the trouble. I'll leave." I stand up, hoisting my bag over my shoulder. She copies me, but before she can say anything I'm walking out of the door, slamming it behind me. I stride out of the building, past the gates, and into the city for the first time since I was taken home. Free./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"*/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""Hey, Quinn!"/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"I raise my head to look up the fire escape that I'm sitting on to find Selina climbing down towards me. I came up here after I dropped Puddin' at home. I got some strange looks from the officers stationed outside, but they didn't try to stop /"You know that isn't either of my names?" I call up, smiling at the sight of her. She drops down next to me, effortlessly elegant, and sits down, leaning back on her elbows. br /"Yeah, but it's the least stupid thing I can call you." She says it deadpan, but I know she's joking with me. br /"You insulting my names?" I chuckle, leaning back to join her. br /"You know it." I grin, happy to be with someone who isn't looking at me with pity, isn't asking me how I am. Or at least… "So, how-"br /"Don't you dare ask me how I'm doing, or I'll push you off this fire escape," I tell her matter of factly, and she laughs. br /"Okay, okay. I was going to ask how you got out of your house. Bruce told me you weren't allowed anywhere except school." br /"Yeah. That." I clench my jaw, recent events that I'd been trying to repress pushing forward. "Kind of got expelled." br /"What?" She sits up, /"Got in a fight." emDon't think it can be considered a fight if only one person got injured. And only one person was attacking. /em"It was either police or expulsion. So I left." It's easier to tell it like that. As though I don't care. And in a way, I'm happy that I'm out. Maybe now I'll be able to do more. For once I'm optimistic. It's unearned. br /"Wow." She sits for a second, then a giggle escapes her. "I hate to say it, but I think Bruce might be a bad influence on you." br /"What do you mean?" br /"Well, first the getting kidnapped – very Bruce." I give her a look, and she raises her eyebrows at me. "Am I wrong? And beating someone up at school." br /"Bruce got into fights?" br /"Just one. Right after his parents died. Alfred approved." She laughs, and I join /"Why doesn't that surprise me?" br /We sit in silence for a while, watching people below us on the street go past. Sirens in the air. It's all white noise. The silence gives me space to think, and I realise /"You know, if it wasn't for Penguin, I wouldn't have escaped."br /"How's that?" br /"The only reason Jerome brought me to the city was because Penguin challenged him. I would never have been able to escape from Jerome's base. It had to be in the city." The more I think about it, the more true it becomes. "Kinda feels like I should thank him. Even if it was purely for his own gain." br /"You serious about that?" Selina stands up and stretches, looking down at me. br /"What?" br /"You wanna thank Penguin?" I nod, and she reaches a hand out, helping me up. "Then let's go."/p  
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p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"We stand outside the entrance to the Iceberg Lounge. By now the sun is starting to set, orange light cast over the blue sign. I follow Selina past the bouncer, who seems to recognise her. I keep my eyes down but face no challenge. We take an elevator, empty for now but soon to be filled with party-goers, to the main floor of the club. We enter, walking past the bar where a man cleans glasses. He nods to Selina, who nods back, and looks me up and down. I smile awkwardly, sticking close to the girl in front of me. Down a corridor we stop outside of a dark wooden door, guarded by a tall man. br /"What do you want, Cat?" I raise my eyes at the nickname, the corner of my mouth turning up at the accuracy. br /"Chill, Steve." She nods her head towards me, drawing his attention. "She wants to speak to Penguin." br /"Right. Jerome's girl." I cringe at the title, glaring at him, but he simply glares right back. "Go on in." Selina pushes open the door, going in ahead of me. br /"Hey, Penguin." She calls, and I look over her shoulder to see the bird-like man standing next to a window, seemingly deep in thought. Upon hearing his name he turns, irritated. br /"If you don't have a good reason for disturbing me, Miss Kyle, I suggest you leave before I-" His speech stops as he catches sight of me. He straightens up, adjusting the cane in his hand. "Miss Quinzel." He sounds surprisedbr /"Pen- Mr Cobblepot." I step forward, a hand running through my hair anxiously. I speak before I lose my bravery. "I wanted to thank you, for… Your part in my escape." It sounds stupid now, but I carry on. "If you hadn't tried to collect the reward, I wouldn't have gotten away." br /"Well, Miss Quinzel, you're very welcome. My only regret is that I wasn't able to get you to the GCPD myself." He gives me a tense smile, his grip on his cane shifting constantly. br /"So you would have gotten the money?" I grin, and his mouth falls open, struggling for speech. "I'll make sure my parents follow through on their promise. You deserve it." br /"That- That's very generous of you, Miss Quinzel. But it's not necessary. Your safety is reward enough." emBullshit. /embr /"Well, that's a very kind lie Mr Cobblepot-"br /"Quinn!" Selina hisses, but I keep speaking, stepping /"But we both know you wouldn't have rescued me if it wasn't going to benefit you. Which means that you wouldn't refuse an offer of compensation unless you had already received it." I take a step closer, scrutinising him. He raises his chin haughtily. He thinks I won't call his bluff. He's wrong. "My parents paid you to get Jerome to bring me out, didn't they?" Honesty flashes across his face, and I know I've got it. "Don't get me wrong, I'm fine with that, I'd just like to know the truth."br /"Yes, you're right." He admits, exasperated. I smile, smug. "Does that change anything, or do you just like being right?" br /"I just like to be right. Thanks again, Mr Cobblepot." I turn, biting my lip to restrict the grin trying to push onto my face. "Oh, one more thing." I look over my shoulder at now agitated man. "Do the police know?"br /"Of course they don't." emPerfect./em I leave, hearing him huff behind me and mutter a comment to Selina, who laughs before following me. I wait until we're in the elevator to ask what he /"He said "She's certainly something-""br /"That's one word for it."br /"I'm not finished. He said "She's certainly something. I can see why Jerome likes her so much." br /"Ugh. Isn't that great." I roll my eyes, and Selina puts a hand on my /"Take it as a compliment. There are worse things to be." br /"Worse things than being the type of person an insane criminal would like?" As the doors open, I turn to her. "Like what?" br /"Being the type of person who likes the insane criminal back." She walks past me, and my stomach drops./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"emFuck./em/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"*/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""How dare you do this, Harleen!"/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"The moment I get home my mother is screaming at me. My father and Wren quickly abandoned the first floor, leaving her to yell her head off. I sit on the sofa across from where she stands. The last of the daylight filters through the curtains, almost distracting me. Almost. br /"How could you do this to us?!"br /"Can I just check what I'm getting in trouble for?" At this point, I don't even care. I just want her to stop talking so I can go to bed. Today has not been a good /"Everything! First, I can't believe you would attack someone."br /"I don't know if I'd say attack-"br /"Don't interrupt me. You will not be able to talk your way out of this." She's deadly serious. I drop my head and chew at the inside of my lip. "It was in the evening paper. Now, people are questioning your mental stability. How do you think that looks for the family, for the business?"br /"I didn't-"br /"What did I say about interrupting me?" emYou asked me a question, you bitch. /emA bit harsh. emBut true. /emI nod, looking back down. br /"And expelled from school – and such a prestigious one. It's a good thing you'd be graduating in a few months anyway." She turns away from me, seemingly infuriated by the mere sight of me. "But we'll need to figure something else out. And then disappearing into the city? Without even taking Pudding?" br /"Look, mom-" She goes to interrupt me, but I keep talking. "We need to talk about this. You can't keep me locked up, restricted to here and school. That won't help me get back to normal. You were right. I'm not fine. So, let's make a deal?" She turns back, intrigued. A business deal is something she understands, something she's familiar with, something she can deal with; and telling her she's right is undoubtedly helpful. br /"And what do you propose for this deal?" br /"I am able to go wherever I want in the city – within reason – as long as I inform you and keep you updated." br /"And you will use Archie. No wandering off." br /"Fine. And I'll get counselling. You said you found someone excellent."br /"We did. I'll contact him immediately." She begins to smile, but as her mind whirs her eyes narrow with suspicion. "What else is in it for you?"br /"Two things. When I turn 18, I want to move out. An apartment. Somewhere in the city that's relatively safe with security."br /"I suppose we can do that. Now-"br /"I said two, mom." A scowl at that. "Last thing. I want to start volunteering at Arkham."br /"Absolutely not." The moment the words are out of my mouth she's shaking her head. br /"I have that nursing qualification from New York. And I need something to do until college. I want to work somewhere like Arkham eventually; this will be good experience."br /"I won't let you. This is not a discussion." It's a good thing I have my trump /"Then I guess I'll have to go and tell Jim Gordon about how you paid Penguin to rescue me." Her mouth drops open in shock and in anger, her eyes wide. She becomes very quiet, hissing at me under her /"How do you know about that?"br /"Doesn't matter. Give me what I want, and I'll give you what you want emand /emI won't go talk to Gordon." She grinds her teeth together, glaring at me. I am not the naïve, vulnerable girl she thought I was, that she wishes I would be. She doesn't know what to do. How to work against me./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""Fine."/p  
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p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Finally, I'm allowed to go upstairs. Appointments made with the counsellor, with an estate agent, with the director of Arkham. All indicators of my victory over my mother. So why don't I feel victorious? I look in the mirror. A blonde girl stares back at me, a thin scar above her eyebrow. I don't feel like her anymore. The girl I was before, the girl they all see me as; she's gone. Jerome killed her, and I took her place. Blood-soaked. Afraid. Angry. No one can know. They won't want to know; they'll refuse to see it. Even if I told them the truth, showed them what I've become. Today proved that. The only person who sees me for who I really am is Jerome. He understood the darkness in me before I understood it myself. The longing to break free from societies rules, to live on instinct, on chaos. To live like him./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"But I can't give in. I can't let him win. Can't let him know that every single time I talk to him, see him, think about him, it becomes more difficult to resist the urge to just let go. To join him. Whatever that would mean. But I can't think about that. I hesitate for a moment before I take off my shirt, the dressing quickly following. Jerome's mark glares at me, red and angry. Ironically like Jerome. No matter what, I can never stop thinking about him. He's made sure of that. Every time I get dressed, every time I think about going swimming, or wearing a crop top, I'll be reminded of him. Of what he did to me. And of everything that I should feel about him. And everything that I shouldn't./p 


	20. Don't Relax

p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"On my first day of therapy, Gotham is filled with flurries of snow. The sight of the ground covered in a thick layer of snow makes me excited – the idea of going out to play with Wren, the opportunity to just be a kid again, the promise of Christmas almost here. I watch it through the window of the office, a good excuse to avoid looking at the woman sitting in front of me./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""So, Miss Quinzel, I'm so glad you decided to meet with me."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"The therapist, Dr Nichols, smiles coldly at me from the armchair where she sits with her legs crossed and a notepad in her hand. Rigid, clinical, /"Didn't exactly have much choice. At least if I do well you can tell my parents that I'm allowed to go outside." I don't want to be here. But after what happened at school I think it's necessary that I talk to someone. Or at least try to. br /"I understand that you're frustrated, Miss Quinzel, but your parents are doing what they think is best for your safety." I nod unenthusiastically. "Now, today I just want to set out some groundwork so I can prepare for our next session. Working through what happened to you will take a while, and it may be that you never make a full recovery. I want to make sure you're aware of that."br /"Yeah, I get it." I've already accepted the reality that I will never be who I was before. This is about figuring out who I am now. br /"So, tell me about yourself?" She asks bluntly, and my mind stutters. I'm not big on talking about /"What do you want to know?" I sound more defensive than I intended but it's a force of habit. br /"Anything. Hobbies, interests, friends. I want to know about who you are as a person." I begin to twist the hairband that was on my wrist between my fingers. br /"Well… I mean… I don't know. I like reading. I emliked /emschool stuff – not the people, but the learning. Umm… Training Puddin' is fun." Why am I such a boring person? emYou're not boring, you just can't talk about anything you actually do because she's definitely reporting back to your parents. /emI guess. "Friends… I've got a few. Two, really. Bruce Wayne; we spend a lot of time together. We do self-defence training – that's good. And Selina Kyle. We met through Bruce. That's kinda it." emWell, you also have an unhealthy interest in abnormal psychology. And you like to wander the city at night occasionally committing minor crimes. But yeah, that's it. /embr /"That's interesting. You mentioned doing some self-defence training. With Bruce Wayne?"br /"Yeah." br /"Could you expand on that? Tell me how it started, why you do it?" I narrow my eyes at her, waiting for her to get to the point. We're not here to talk about what I do for fun. We're here to talk about the severe psychological trauma I've experienced and whether or not I'm a danger to society. Which I'm not. br /"Sure. We started a few months ago, before Jerome escaped. It was after I met him at Arkham and he threatened to come after me. Bruce suggested that he showed me some of the stuff he and Alfred had done, and we've been doing it ever since. Definitely proved to be useful." I sigh as I finish, thinking back to those easy days of training – just beating the shit out of each other and then laughing about it. I wish I could go back to it. But I can't. She's smiling, like a cat who's just found a /"Could you tell me about meeting Jerome in Arkham?" She's found her way in. I handed it to her on a plate. br /"I was on a school trip; we were left unattended in one of the cell corridors. Jerome started speaking to us, and I spoke back. He didn't recognise me initially, but-"br /"Of course. That wasn't the first time you met Jerome, was it?" emFor fuck's /em"No, it wasn't," I state, not continuing. If she wants to know, she'll have to ask. br /"Could you tell me about when you first met?" The pen in her hand spins, ready to note down every detail. I hate that my past has become a specimen for people to prod at and interrogate. It should be mine to look back on – not anyone else's. br /"I was twelve; he was eighteen. I was at the circus with my family. After the main show, we were separated and I got lost. I panicked and started freaking out. It was just so busy, there were so many people… Someone pushed me over. I ended up cutting my knees really badly – I still have a couple of scars." I run my thumb absent-mindedly over my knee, remembering how sore it was. Nothing compared to what I've been through now. "Before I knew what was happening someone picked me up and pulled me out of the crowd. It was Jerome." I remember his face clear as day – concerned, sweet, the most handsome guy I'd ever seen. "He took me to his caravan, helped clean up the scrapes. He gave me his jumper." br /"Did you talk to him at all?"br /"Of course I did. He made me laugh. Calmed me down. We talked about our families – he told me about his mom."br /"Was this close to when he murdered her?" She asks, and I blanch. She already knows the answer. My parents must have told her. So why is she asking? She leans forward, her eyes drilling into my /"He killed her that night." Because of meem. /emBut I'm not telling her that. br /"And how did that affect you?" emHow didn't it affect me?br /em"When my parents found out we moved to New York. It was a big upheaval for all of us." Facts. Facts are easy. But she doesn't want easy. br /"I know about that, Harleen. How did it affect you emotionally?"br /"I… It hurt. I trusted him, I liked him. And, I felt like he betrayed me. I found it difficult to get over that." I keep my eyes on my hands, twisting my wrist so it pops. The brace has been off for a week now, but it still feels loose. This honesty is brutal – I've never been this honest before. And I know that I need to keep what I tell her in check. Otherwise, my parents will never let go of me. And I can't stay trapped. "When he died, I felt like I could finally move forward. And even when he came back, I was fine. I was far away, and I was certain he didn't remember me. I was just a kid he met one night years ago. Why would he care about me?" I let out a slight laugh. I'm starting to understand why he cares so much. At least, I think I am. It's the same reason I care so /"But he did remember you, didn't he?" She keeps tugging at the threads of my reality, pulling it apart to examine it. br /"Yeah. He did." And everything's gone to shit./p  
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p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"I wrap my scarf tight around my neck as I descend the steps of the old building. Bruce stands waiting for me, enveloped in a heavy black coat that matches his dark curls. I wave to him and come to a stop beside him. br /"How was it?" He asks as we begin to walk. br /"Terrible," I sigh. "It's not exactly my favourite topic." br /"That's understandable." He shoves his hands into his pockets, dark eyes sweeping the empty streets. The snow has pushed most people inside. But not us. I like the peace and quiet. It feels safer than crowds, where anyone could be lurking. "But do you think it'll help?"br /"We'll see." I shrug. If I could be honest with her it would, but when my parents are paying her I doubt doctor-patient confidentiality is relevant. "Is Selina meeting us?"br /"Later. She has something she needs to do first." I glance at him, eyebrows /"Something criminal?"br /"Undoubtedly." We both laugh. br /"Oh, almost forgot." I reach into my bag and pull out the gold-adorned envelope and hand it to him. He looks at it, examining the neat writing addressed to him. "My parents are hosting a New Year's event, and you're officially invited."br /"Can't wait." He says dryly and I nod in agreement. br /"I've been informed that my attendance is compulsory. At least for the start of the evening."br /"Is that code for "We can leave after an hour?""br /"It is." I nod, and we smile in unison. "Do the rounds, smile and wave, then disappear in a puff of smoke." br /"I can't remember the last time I went to an event like this that ended well." Bruce chuckles. I tilt my head, considering the comment. br /"Good point. Well, we'll be long gone by the time someone decides to crash. At least we know we're safe from Penguin." I roll my eyes. By now we're closer to the centre of the city, and more people begin to take up space on the sidewalk. We step out of the cold into a brightly lit department store, warmth immediately hitting us. I release my hair from the black beanie on my head and unwind the scarf to hang loosely around my neck while Bruce unbuttons his coat. "Right. Jewellery department." We stride through the store towards the glass cases of sparkling diamonds and jewels. Bruce shifts on his feet and glances /"I'm going to go look for something for Alfred. I'll see you in half an hour?" br /"Sure. I'll probably still be here, to be honest." I look at the wide array of necklaces and earrings in front of me. "Don't be fooled, I have no idea what I'm doing." Bruce laughs and leaves me with a nod. As soon as he's gone one of the women standing waiting approaches me. br /"Is your boyfriend not particularly interested in jewellery, dear?" She asks, a well-meaning smile on her face. br /"Oh, he's not my boyfriend," I quickly deflect. "Just friends. He's got a girlfriend." Kind of. br /"I understand." She doesn't push the point. "So, what are you looking for today? We have some wonderful selections just in." br /"Christmas present for my mom. We've been fighting recently so…"br /"So you need something spectacular?" I grin and nod, and she nods back. "Well, I'm sure we can find something. Here -" She moves along the case and I follow her, seeing her point to a beautiful necklace, "We have this beautiful white gold diamond and aquamarine pendant." I lean down slightly to examine it. It's simple, but it catches the light and sparkles. "It's nine carat, and costs $320." br /"It's very pretty, but… I think I need something more." I straighten back up. "Do you have any matching necklaces and earrings?" br /"Of course, dear. If you'll just follow me." She exits the counter area and crosses the section, leading me to another case. "These are also white gold and nine carat, but they are inlaid with freshwater pearls." They're perfect. Elegant, simple. Beautiful. br /"How much?" br /"These are $950." I cringe inwardly at the price, more at the fact that buying them won't be an issue than the actual /"I'll take them." A wide smile graces her face and she unlocks the /"Perfect. I'm sure she'll love them." They're placed into a small jewellery box, blue velvet, and paid for with my card. "Anything else?"br /"Yes, actually. A bracelet, and a watch." This is the year of coordinated presents./p  
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p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Reunited with Bruce we head back to my house to drop off our purchases and are met with Selina standing /"You're lucky we got rid of the cops," I call to her as I unlock the door, leaving mine and Bruce's bags inside and turning back to see the two of them waiting for me. I lock it and step down to stand with them. br /"That makes it sound like you murdered them." Selina comments and I wink at her. br /"Maybe. My therapist probably thinks so." We walk away from the house, heading towards the park. br /"Besides, in your neighbourhood, everyone glares at me."br /"That's 'cause the people in my neighbourhood are privileged assholes." I /"You included?" Selina pokes my shoulder. br /"Ha ha. Very funny." I laugh sarcastically, but with a genuine smile on my /"I'm just saying!" She shakes her head, laughing too. Bruce grins at us. br /"I am one of those things. You can decide which." I joke, and we laugh again. As we quiet down, I look at the two of them, walking close together. I don't know how it happened, but I have found amazing friends in them. The best friends I've ever had. With them, I'm not anything people expect me to be: not a Quinzel, not a straight-A student, not a victim. I'm just me. People I can be like that around are rare. There's only one more I can think of. But he has different expectations of me./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"We arrive at the park, covered in fresh, unbroken snow. Our feet crunch over it leaving a trail in the otherwise unmarked white ground. br /"Wren and I always go out when it snows. Make snow angels and stuff." I murmur, more to myself than to the others. br /"That's cute. I never liked snow." Selina remarks, sneering at the white powder coating her boots. "Snow always means cold nights and less people about." br /"I never thought about that."br /"See? Privileged." Selina mutters, and I roll my eyes at her. br /"There are some good things about the snow, though." br /"Yeah?" Bruce has stepped away from us, watching the play park where a small group of children play, supervised by a cold parent. "Like what?" br /"Like this," I bend down, scooping snow into my hands and moulding it into a small ball. I aim at the back of Bruce's head, and after getting a nod of confirmation from Selina, I throw it. It hits him right on target and he stumbles forward, immediately going into a defence position. Once he sees us laughing he straightens up, his mouth set into a line of determination. br /"Really?" br /"Aw, can't handle the cold, Bruce?" Selina teases, and he shakes his head. br /"Oh, it's on." He quickly makes a snowball, and Selina and I split, running across the open ground. I hear the smash of Selina being hit, and her cry of indignation. I take shelter behind an old, bent tree, beginning to make up a small arsenal of snowballs. The sound of footsteps across the snow makes me freeze, picking up two of my weapons and readying myself. When Selina appears I throw them both in quick succession, giggling at her cry of fury until I'm hit in the face with retaliation. I yelp, grabbing a few from the pile before I run. I see Bruce and throw blindly. He quickly fights back, and we lose all sense of tactics and strategy as Selina joins and we chuck snow at each other. Our laughs and shouts echo across the otherwise empty field. As I run from Selina's vengeance, a figure in the distance catches my eye. A tall man, watching us play. Ginger No. He can't be here./em I know it's not him. His face is clean of scars, and a child stands by his side, but the brief moment of panic is enough for Selina to take the advantage. A thud in my shoulder and pain blooms. I fall over my feet, landing with an explosion of snow. br /"Shit, Quinn!" Selina runs over, Bruce on her heels, as I push myself up, one hand holding onto my aching shoulder. br /"I'm fine. Just the old bullet wound acting up." I chuckle. br /"I forgot. Sorry." Bruce helps me stand up and walk over to a bench, where I sit down heavily. br /"It's fine, seriously. It's scarred over now, just still a bit sensitive." Selina perches on the back of the bench next to me and Bruce sits down. "Wanna see?" br /"Yeah, actually." Bruce gives Selina a look, but I'm already unzipping my jacket. The only other people who have seen it are the doctors at the hospital. I don't want my parents or Wren seeing it – they'll just worry more. "Hold." I drop my jacket on Bruce's lap and pull one arm out of the sleeve of my jumper. I angle my body so they can see better and let Selina pull the clothing aside to expose the dent where I got shot. Her fingers run over it and I flinch involuntarily. "I can't believe you're more badass than me." I laugh, pulling my sleeve back on and retrieving my /"I don't think I could ever have enough scars to make me more badass than you, Selina." I zip myself back up and adjust my scarf. "But I'm definitely more badass than Bruce."br /"Hey!"/p 


	21. Snow and Presents

p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"Christmas Eve. It hasn't stopped snowing, but the movement of the city stops it taking hold. The streets and sidewalks clear, life continuing as normal. The house has been taken over with decorations; red and green everywhere, a sparkling tree dominating the living room, lights twinkling along the bannisters. I even have a small tree sitting on my desk. I'm pulling on my boots when Wren knocks on my /"Ready to go?" She leans against the door frame. I nod, standing up and crossing to stand next to her. Her short blonde hair pokes out from under her hat. It's /"You sure you'll be warm enough?" I adjust her hat and scarf, make sure her jacket's done all the way up. "You've got gloves?" She bats my hands away in mock /"I'll be fine, emmom/em." She rolls her eyes. I smile and push her /"Okay, okay. Just don't complain if you're cold." I turn off my light and close the door, leading the way downstairs with Puddin' at our feet. "We'll be back in an hour!" I call into the house, trusting that my parents will hear. We've already agreed on every aspect of this, and I know that if we're not back in exactly sixty minutes they will freak. Police cars, SWAT team, helicopters. The works. I slam the front door behind us, a last message that we've left the house. It's a tradition for Wren and I to go on a walk on Christmas Eve – it lets us have sister time, and lets our parents finish off everything for Christmas Day without us to get in the way of their fighting. This year it almost didn't happen. It took a lot of bargaining, an argument with premises and conclusions and counterpoints, practically a formal debate. But we got it. I'm glad. We haven't had much time together since I got back. br /"So, how's life?" I ask as we stroll down the street side by side. I hold Puddin's leash tight in my hand, but she stays close on her own. br /"Pretty good. Better with you home."br /"Obviously." I toss my hair over my shoulder, posing like an idiot. "What about school? We've got a reputation to maintain."br /"Ugh, don't remind me." She rolls her eyes. "With you getting expelled -"br /"Voluntarily leaving," I interject. br /"Sure. With you emvoluntarily leaving /emmom and dad won't let me forget how well you did in school."br /"You're smart though. And you're a better student than I ever was." I reach out and loop an arm through hers, pulling her close. "Don't feel too pressured though. School isn't everything." br /"I am doing pretty good though."br /"Top of the class?" br /"You know it," She squeezes my arm, giggling. br /"Friends all good? Got plenty?" I'm interrogating her a bit, but I feel so disconnected from her life now. We've never been this distant. br /"Yeah, they're cool. Things were a bit weird for a while – they still are sometimes. People don't really know how to talk to me; they're worried about saying the wrong thing." She looks at me, her eyebrows furrowed. "I guess you get that too?"br /"I did. Luckily Bruce has been through similar stuff, so there's no awkwardness there." We're in the park now, and I steer us towards the same bench I sat on last time I was here. "But with people at school – they all looked at me like I was some… freak."br /"It just sucks." I let go of her arm and we sit down after clearing away the snow that's piled up. Wren shivers and I smirk at her, prompting a /"Yeah. That's one word for it." I sit back, surveying the empty park. It's beautiful at night. Christmas lights have been strung up along the paths and through the trees, making it feel like a Winter Wonderland. br /"Harleen." Wren's voice is serious, quiet. I look at her, /"Is something wrong?" br /"I… I want to know what happened to you." She looks away. br /"You know what happened Wren." I don't want to talk about this. I'm trying to put it behind me, not bring it up at every /"No, I don't. All I know is that you were taken from school and then three weeks later you show up at the police station, covered in bruises and dressed in different clothes." She raises her voice, clearly frustrated. "What happened while you were there? What did he do to you?" br /"You don't want to know, Wren!" I yell, and she flinches away. I sigh, leaning forward and resting my face in my hands. "I'm sorry. But you don't want to know. If I could forget it, I would. All you need to know was that it was bad, and nothing I would wish on anyone else."br /"You can talk to me, Harls." She hasn't called me Harls since she was four. br /"No, I can't. I won't put that on you." I shake my head. I can't tell her. I can't take her innocence from her like that. It's not fair. br /"You don't have to carry it on your own." She sounds older. I never thought about how this all might have affected her. But she's had to grow up, just like I /"I can't tell you everything. No one should have to have that in their head." br /"But emyou/em do. You don't have to tell me everything - just some of it." She rests a hand on my hunched shoulder. br /"Okay." I sit back up, letting out a heavy breath. "Some of it. I… I was kept tied up, pretty much all of the time. Rope at first, then handcuffs, then zipties." She sucks in a breath but doesn't interrupt. "I got food and stuff – they didn't starve me – and I was allowed to use the bathroom. I even got to shower once." emSmall things. Unimportant things./em "I tried to escape a couple of times – the first time Jerome choked me. The second time…" emI did warn you. /emI can't tell her that. That's one of the things she absolutely can't know. br /"What happened? Please tell me."br /"Wren, I can't.. If I told you this… Trust me, it would change you."br /"So you just have to suffer with it?"br /"Yes!" She doesn't get it. She refuses to understand. br /"Please! Just tell me!" br /"No, Wren!" I stand up and step away from her. "You have to trust me on this!" I turn around. "I can't tell you." I won't let her see the scar, the "J" carved into my stomach; the skin tight and pink, raised up, slowly healing. But it will never disappear. Her face falls, but she nods. "Thank you."br /"You know you can talk to me, whenever you need." br /"I know." I smile and reach out a hand to pull her up. "Want to build a snowman?" A grin breaks across her face, finally looking her age. br /"Of course I do."/p  
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p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""Well, this is shit."br /"Language!"br /"Well, it is," Wren pokes at the lumpy snowman. It's short and wonky, a disturbing smile carved into its face and a yellow stain courtesy of Puddin'.br /"It could be worse," I shrug. She's right though. It's completely awful. br /"Not much." I pull off my scarf and wrap it around the "neck" of the snowman; it doesn't help. "Time to go?" We've got twenty minutes left until we need to be back, but it is colder than /"You head back. I'm going to stay for a bit." I want some alone time before the chaos of Christmas /"But-"br /"Just tell mom and dad that I met a friend or something. I'll be back before time's up."br /"Okay. Stay safe." She hugs me, and I wrap an arm around her in return, staring at the lump of snow we made. br /"See you soon." She heads off back in the direction of the house, leaving me standing alone in the snow. I drop down next to the snowman, uncaring for the cold that immediately seeps through my jeans. I lie down into the soft snow and close my eyes. Before I can stop myself I'm thinking about Jerome. Because of him, I can't even talk to my sister – I hate keeping secrets from her, but Jerome is my burden to bear. br /"Fucking asshole," I grumble. A shadow falls over me, blocking out the vague lights behind my eyelids./p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;""Speak of the devil, and- Well, you know the rest."/p  
p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"I struggle to my feet, snow falling from my back and hair. It's him. It's actually him. His hair. His scarred face. He found me. Puddin' growls by my side. br /"You're sister's cute," He remarks, looking over my shoulder in the direction she left. br /"Don't you dare talk about her." I try to keep my voice steady, never taking my eyes off of him; taking note of every movement. br /"What's her name? Wren? What do your parents have against normal names?" He steps forward and I step back. br /"I said emdon't/em." br /"Aw, feeling a bit protective, emHarls/em?" I loosen my hold on Puddin's leash, ready to let her attack Jerome. "Nice of her to give us some alone time."br /"You need to leave."br /""What? You're not glad to see me?" He takes another step closer and Puddin' mimics him, teeth bared. br /"You come any closer and she'll rip your throat out." He lets out a low whistle at the threat. br /"I guess we're talking from a distance then." He stops moving, hands slipping into his /"We're not talking at all. If I'm not home in ten minutes the police will be here in an instant." br /"Aw, are you scared they'll catch me?" I roll my eyes, quickly fixing my gaze back on his figure. "Don't worry, I'll be long gone. Just wanted to give you this," He tosses me a small package and I instinctively catch it. It's a present, wrapped sloppily in purple paper with a red ribbon. I look back up at him, confused. "I know, I know, you didn't get me anything. It's fine, you can make it up to me. Merry Christmas… Harls." He begins to back away, turning around after a few stepsbr /"They'll catch you, you know!" It's an empty threat – I'm too shocked to do anything. br /"Of course they will!" He calls back as he saunters off, clearly unbothered. "All part of the plan." I watch his retreating form, making sure he's gone before I pocket the parcel. I'll throw it away later./p  
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p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"I'm still on edge from encountering Jerome. It's made Christmas morning a bittersweet affair, but I've managed to push the feeling away for presents. I'm curled up in an armchair next to the fire with a mug of hot chocolate watching Wren open parcels. Books, makeup, clothes, music. All of them perfect. Then it's my turn. First an envelope. I open it and tip out its contents: two sets of keys. I look at my parents, an eyebrow raised. br /"Two things," My dad begins, "First: a motorbike, and lessons. I know you wanted to learn back in New York so…" My face lights up. A motorbike means independence. Freedom. And no more Archie. "And second: An apartment. It's in the centre of the city, good security, no one gets in without a pass or clearance from a resident. You can move in whenever you want." I didn't think they'd follow through. br /"And before you thank us: here." My mom passes me a parcel. It's soft, clothes maybe? I open it up, revealing a red dress. br /"What-?"br /"It's your uniform for Arkham." I lift my head, staring at her in shock. "You start on the second."br /"Thank you." I jump off of the chair, making Puddin' yip in excitement, and hug her. She hesitates, unsure of what to do – neither of us is particularly physically affectionate – before hugging back. I release her and move on to hug my dad, who welcomes me with open /"A deal's a deal, Harleen."br /"Still. Thank you." br /"There is one other thing." I turn to look at my mom, who looks slightly /"Yeah?" I ask with /"We want you to make a speech at the New Year party."br /"Wait, what?" Why would they want me to do that?br /"With how much you've improved, we think that you're ready to begin representing the company again. You exemplify everything Arthur Ammunitions stands for: strength, resilience, determination." I sit back in my chair, thinking it over in my head. If this is the terms of my independence, I can live with it. br /"Okay. I'll do it." Satisfied smiles all around./p  
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p style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"I turn on the light to the bathroom before slipping into my bedroom, closing the door gently behind me. I don't have long. In the bottom of my desk drawer hides the gift Jerome gave me. I was going to throw it away, but I have to know what messed-up present he got me. The wrapping falls apart in my hands as I pull it away to reveal red tissue paper. He's really gone all out. And underneath the tissue paper – a dagger. Tiny, the blade only as long as my thumb. It's accompanied by a sheath, with a black leather band with a buckle – I'm guessing for hiding somewhere on your body. I examine the collection carefully, looking for traps or hidden dangers. But it really is just a simple knife. Why would Jerome give this to me? Is it a warning? A threat? A promise? Whatever it is, it's not good./p 


	22. The Tide Turns

The view from my apartment is breath-taking. I can see right across the city and across the river. The reflection of the moon ripples in the water, breaking apart and coming back together. The city is buzzing with energy and excitement. The New Year always brings new hope for a fresh start – even if things only get worse.

My focus shifts to my reflection in the window and I adjust my hair, making sure it sits just right. I've kept it down, even if it isn't particularly appropriate, so that I can hide the scar that mars the back of my shoulder. There's nothing I can do about the one on my forehead, but at least the worst is hidden away. I adjust the evening gloves I'm wearing and take one final glance in the mirror. All in black, a strapless dress that flares out at my waist and ends just below my knees, and heels that I like to think could kill a man. I'm ready. The speech is in my purse, ready to go. Short, simple, but hopefully effective. A glance at the clock tells me that Bruce will be here in five minutes. One last thing. I cross the room to my wardrobe, walking in and bending down in front of one of the chests of drawers, opening the very bottom. Under the layers of scarves and hats lies the dagger in its sheath. Turns out it's designed to fit around my thigh, under a skirt or over jeans. I still haven't figured out why he gave it to me. Part of me feels as though I should wear it tonight, but I know that's a recipe for disaster. Logically I'm aware that the party will be completely safe, but my brain is screaming that somehow Jerome will come in, that he'll ruin everything, that he'll hurt someone. That I won't be able to stop him. That I won't want to.

The buzz of the intercom makes me drop the dagger back into the drawer in surprise. I stand up and kick it shut, hurrying to answer.

"Hello?"

"It's me," Bruce's voice comes clearly out of the speaker.

"So mysterious," I chuckle, "I'll be down in a minute." I grab my purse and shawl, turning off the lights as I hurry out of the door and straight into the lift – penthouse perks.

Bruce is waiting for me by the imposing glass doors out of the building. I greet him with a smile, and he holds the door for me. I slip into the waiting car to find Alfred sitting in the driver's seat.

"Hi, Alfred." Bruce climbs in after me, closing the door behind him and prompting Alfred to drive off.

"Good evening Harleen." His eyes meet mine in the mirror for a brief second before focusing back on the road.

"Ready for an evening of fun?" I joke. Bruce groans, leaning back into his seat. "You know you don't have to stay for the whole thing?"

"I do. I want to support you, Quinn." I huff at the nickname, rolling my eyes.

"Just cause Selina calls me that doesn't make it okay for you to." He laughs at my grouchiness as the car weaves through the heavy Gotham traffic.

"If it makes any difference, I won't call you Quinn," Alfred speaks up from the front seat, making me laugh.

"Thank you, Alfred. I appreciate it."

It's not long until midnight – which means it's time for the speech. I stand up, Wren squeezing my hand before I step away from the table positioned directly in front of the platform that the podium rests on. I climb the few steps and stand next to it, my paper with it written out in front of me. The room – filled with elites, CEOs, other well-off families, and Bruce and Alfred – quietens down, letting me begin.

"I would like to start by saying thank you to everyone for your presence here tonight. The Arthur New Years Celebration was an important event in Gotham before we left, and we're glad to have the opportunity to continue it now we're back." It feels as though there's someone else talking; these aren't my words, this isn't my voice. "I would also like to thank my parents, Trevor and Meryl Quinzel, for organising tonight's event, and all the wonderful staff who helped them do so." Applause fills the room as my parents nod in appreciation of the recognition: I knew that would please them. "As you will all be aware, our return to Gotham has not been easy. We, myself in particular, have gone through a great deal of hardship." Sympathetic nodding. Hums of pity. At the back of the room, I see Bruce muttering to Alfred, his brow furrowed. Is something wrong? I ignore them, knowing I have to continue. "But we have survived, and we are stronger for it. And that is what Arthur Ammunitions stands for. Strength in the face of adversity. And we, my family and I, would like to thank each and every one of you for your continued support. You are what makes Arthur Ammunitions the company it is. And now," Bruce and Alfred are gone. I force the smile on my face to stay, "We invite you to welcome in a new year of prosperity and success for Gotham with us!" One of the servers hands me a glass of champagne, and we lift our glasses as the clock begins to count down the final ten seconds of the year. I chant along with the room, trying to let their excitement infect me. "Three, two, one!"

Cheers of "Happy New Year!" fill the room, and a genuine smile breaks across my face for a moment. But it soon disappears when everyone falls silent, their gazes focused towards my left where the sound of a single person clapping echoes. All eyes are fixed on him, horror and terror on their faces. I don't want to look – I already know who it is – but I force myself to turn my head. Jerome. Wearing a suit, all in black, strolling leisurely across the stage towards me. My grip on the podium tightens to disguise the shaking of my hands.

"You can't be here." The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"Well, I am so…" He lifts his arms in an over-exaggerated shrug. "What can you do?" He laughs a self-pleased cackle that makes Wren flinch.

"What do you want Jerome?" I keep my eyes on him. I can see my family from the corner of my eye, frozen in fear, but refuse to loom at them. This is about me and Jerome. He wouldn't be here if I wasn't.

"You're a difficult girl to find, Harleen."

"That's kind of the point." I need to be careful. Every time we've spoken since the school, we've been alone. Now, we have an audience – an audience that can't see any weakness from me.

"You're avoiding me?" He gasps in mock upset, hand on his chest. A smile quickly replaces the "shock", sinister and chilling. "Well, that's just rude." He saunters closer. I stand firm – the moment I show fear I'm dead. His voice drops as he approaches so that only I can hear him. "Especially after I went out of my way to get you a Christmas present." He leans closer and every muscle in my body tenses. "Did you bring it?"

I push him away and step back, almost losing my balance in my heels. I shake my head, my voice lost. "Well isn't that a shame. I brought mine," He pulls out a small device – a trigger. The tension in the room rises, a few sobs breaking through the terrified silence. Jerome on his own is dangerous enough; Jerome with a weapon is infinitely deadlier.

"What have you done?"

"If your lovely guests would look under the tables, they might just find-" A scream from the audience interrupts him.

"Bombs!" People immediately leap up and begin pushing away from the tables, gathering t the locked doors. Clearly bombs are more terrifying than Jerome.

"No, you idiots!" He taps the trigger against his head in frustration. "They're gas dispensers!" He declares it as though it's obvious. Somehow this doesn't reduce the fear in the room.

"What are you going to do with them?" I step forward, drawing his attention away from the others. I hold my chin up, shoulders back, trying to be brave even as he closes the distance between us.

"We," He points between us, "Have unfinished business. And I know you'd never forgive me if I hurt your family, _Harls_." I flinch at the nickname as he draws it out. "So, a little bit of knockout gas," He hits himself in the head, imitating knocking himself out, "And we're good to go." He laughs, throwing himself back as it takes over his body.

"I'm not going anywhere with you." I protest, ignoring the racing of my heart.

"You don't have a choice." He mutters, suddenly deathly serious. I can hear sirens outside, and I wonder where Bruce and Alfred went. Did they know something was going to happen? Jerome steps closer, but this time I'm frozen. One more step and the space between us will be closed. I realise that I'm the only one that can stop him; there's no one here to save me.

"Okay," I spit. "I'll go with you. Just don't hurt them." He smiles, a self-satisfied grin as he offers his free hand to me.

"Maybe now you'll stop denying yourself," I nod shakily, the slightest nod I can manage, the grin growing darker, and take his hand. I keep my gaze focused on him, scared of what I'll find if I look at the audience who must be watching us. His grip tightens, and I let mine tighten as well as I step forward. Before I can stop to think, to worry, I throw my leg out and hook it around his, forcing him to fall to the ground. Instead of releasing me, as I'd hoped he would, he pulls me down with him so my body lands on top of his. I don't let myself be shocked, reaching for the hand that holds the trigger and attempting to force it away from him. He grabs at my hair – why did I wear it loose? – and drags my head back. Immediately my mind flickers back to the dream I had. My moment of weakness gives Jerome the upper hand, letting him flip us over so that he is above me. He holds the trigger above my head, taunting me.

The sound of doors slamming open draws our attention away from each other. Someone has unlocked the doors, letting the panicked guests stream out. I see my family at the back of the crowd and sigh in relief. Jerome growls in anger, and I take advantage of the moment to shove my knee between his legs. He groans in pain, the trigger falling from his hand and into mine. I push him away, rolling onto my feet.

"Harleen!" Bruce. He's pushed his way through the crowd – he must have been the one to unlock the doors and call the police.

"Catch!" As Jerome struggles to his feet I throw the trigger across the room. It arcs in slow-motion towards Bruce's outstretched hand, spinning as it moves. Bruce's hands wrap around it, pulling it close into his chest. I laugh in relief, but I'm not done.

"Doesn't matter," Jerome snarls from beside me. "We both know you can't fight me forever." Something inside me snaps. I turn on him, fists clenched and teeth gritted.

"You think you know me." I can barely contain the anger bubbling inside of me as I step towards him. "You don't know shit about me. You don't have power over me – I don't care about you!" I don't know who I'm trying to convince – Jerome or myself. He laughs at me. Laughs. And I let go. He's still laughing when the back of my hand hits him across the face, when my foot plants in his stomach, when he falls to the ground. I follow him down, my fist colliding with his face again and again. He's still fucking laughing, even as he begins to cough up blood. I'm deaf to the rest of the world. All I can hear is his laughter.

"Harleen! That's enough!" A voice shouts from the doors. Jim Gordon. Of course he's here. My body ignores him, continuing to pummel the mess of blood that Jerome's face has become. Heavy footsteps. Running. I'm lifted off of Jerome, my body immediately falling limp and letting myself be carried back. He rolls onto his side, still laughing between spitting up blood. Bruce is staring at me. He looks horrified. I'm not surprised. I am too. I've done exactly what Jerome wanted. I let him get to me, and now I've shown them all that he's right. I am dangerous. I am like him.

I stand by the side of the road watching Jerome, strapped into a stretcher, be wheeled into an ambulance. Red and blue lights flash, illuminating the city street.

"He'll be taken to Arkham. They'll make sure he's locked up for good this time." Jim tries to sound reassuring – he fails.

"That's what you said the first time he went to Arkham. And the second." He sighs.

"We need to talk, Harleen." Jim turns to me, and I imitate him. My family are already home; they didn't see what happened between me and Jerome. Only Bruce, Jim, and Harvey witnessed the violence, the anger. "What happened in there-"

"I know."

"I understand that you're angry, but you went too far." I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the shivering.

"Will you tell my parents?"

"No. I won't tell your therapist either. And you're still a minor, so we can keep your name from being released." I give him a look – nothing's going to stop the papers from making the connection between Jerome and I. "Or at least from the papers releasing what you did to him." I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling my head start to ache.

"What do I need to do? How do I stop him from getting to me?"

"You can't let him control you – you're stronger than him." _Am I?_ "Go home. Get some rest."

"Thank you, Jim." I turn away, preparing to hail a cab back to my apartment when he calls to me.

"Be careful, Harleen." I look back over my shoulder, pretending not to see the resignation on his face, and nod. But I know that being careful is rarely a choice for me now.

"I don't want you going to Arkham!" My mom's voice rings loud and clear through the phone. I hold it slightly away from my ear, wincing at the volume.

"Mom, I already spoke with the director; he's happy for us to go on as planned as long as I'm okay with it, and he'll put safeguards in place so Jerome and I never even see each other." I'm struggling not to raise my voice – I knew she'd go back on our deal. And it's stupid; it's not like I can avoid every criminal in Gotham, especially if I want to work at Arkham – and my plans haven't changed. "What did you think would happen when they caught him?"

I hear her suck in a breath. "I had _hoped_ that they would kill him. Or that he would be sentenced to death."

"He's insane, mom – they can't give him the death penalty." I turn away from the wall and stare out of the window, the city blurry through the heavy rain. "Look," I try to soften my voice, my last attempt at convincing her. "I can't let my life revolve around Jerome – if it does then he wins." _More than he already has._ She lets out a hum of displeasure, but I don't think she wants to keep arguing with me.

"Fine. But the moment anything happens I am taking you out of there."


	23. Inescapable

_I have to say, I look good in red._

I spin from side to side in the mirror, admiring myself in the uniform. Not the most flattering thing in the world, but not terrible either. My hair is twisted back into a tight bun, practical and out of the way, fixed with a black ribbon. I'm ready. Jacket on – a Christmas present to replace my ruined one – and shoes, purse over my shoulder and keys in hand. Time to go.

I take the elevator down to the building garage and grin at the sight of my motorbike. She's beautiful. Bag locked away, helmet on. It's gonna be a good day. I can feel it.

"Harleen, it's great to see you," Director Williams shakes my hand over his desk before gesturing for me to take a seat; I do so gladly.  
"You too, Director. I'm glad that I was still able to work here considering…" I trail off, not sure what words to use.  
"Considering Jerome?" I nod. "He's definitely been quite a problem for you, hasn't he?"  
"That's an understatement." I chuckle.  
"Well, hopefully, he won't be a problem anymore. I've arranged your shifts so that you will never have to interact with him or even see him ideally. You're very rarely even on his wing."  
"Which wing is he on?" I ask, intrigued.  
"High-security, of course," He smiles reassuringly and moves on quickly, "There's a locker assigned to you, you can leave your personal possessions there. You'll be reporting to Dr Stevenson – she'll give you your rota and assignments. Now, would you like a tour?"  
"I think I'm alright, if it's all the same to you. I last time I got a tour I met Jerome," I shrug, letting out a slight laugh, and after a second of hesitation, the director joins in, uncomfortable.  
"I understand," He stands up, showing me out of his office, "Well, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."  
"I won't." With a final exchange of polite smiles, the door is closed behind me. Here we go.

Locker 014. Empty but for my helmet, jacket and bag. I close it and turn to find a young woman a few years older than me. I flinch instinctively and she steps back, concern immediately flooding her face.  
"Oh, shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you."  
"It's okay," I brush her apology aside. She sticks a hand out, grinning.  
"I'm Molly." I take her hand and shake it slowly.  
"Harleen."  
"I know." She steps away, opening up a locker a few down from mine. "I'm a nursing student on placement here. What's your deal? Other than the obvious stuff that everyone knows." I sit on one of the benches, uncertain whether to be wary or intrigued.  
"That depends. What's the obvious stuff?" She turns to me as she closes her locker, a bottle of water now in hand, and grin still fixed on her face.  
"Rich kid gone wrong. You got kidnapped by Jerome Valeska, you escaped, you got expelled -" _Voluntary left_ flickers through my brain but I keep listening, "- And then he attacked your New Years party, and now he's back in Arkham. Did I miss anything?"  
"Nothing that anyone needs to know. And my deal? Paid volunteer until college."  
"Paid volunteer? But-"  
"Yeah, doesn't make sense, but it's a legal thing." While I have a nursing qualification, it's not a full one and I can't technically be employed as a nurse. But, like Molly said: rich kid.  
"Well, it's good to meet you, paid volunteer." She smiles at me, taking a final swig of her water and putting it away.  
"You too," She seems nice. Maybe too nice, but I don't want to judge too fast.  
"What's your rota like for today?" She sits down next to me and pulls out a schedule, and I pull out mine to match.  
"I'm on general check-ups with Dr Keely in the morning, then vaccinations with Dr Jordan. How about you?"  
"Oh, the opposite," She groans jokingly, "Would have been nice to have a bit of companionship."  
"It would have. But at least we can warn each other of anything." I chuckle, and she joins in. This feels like it might be a friendship.

Two weeks have passed. I've fallen into a good routine at Arkham. Working there is far more fulfilling than grinding through endless days of school ever was. In the short time we've worked together Molly and I have become friends. Eating lunch together when we can, encouraging each other through night shifts, grabbing coffee early in the morning before we come in or after we finish. Despite the age gap, we gel well. It's nice having a friend who's normal. It makes me feel more normal. As normal as I can feel. The heels of my shows click as I hurry down the corridor, desperate to be on time. It's my first day in High Security. I flash my badge at the guard who stands at the gate, and he lets me in quickly. I've managed to calm my nerves, but before I can take more than a few steps down the corridor the screaming of an alarm shocks my ears, warning lights filling my vision.  
"What's happening?" The flashing lights blind me, turning the corridor red. Suddenly they snap off. The guard at the gate turns to me, a voice crackling through his radio.  
"There's a disturbance in the Women's Wing. Protocol is for every wing to go on lockdown. Just a precaution." He assures me.  
"Okay." I nod, my hands wringing my skirt. "Sure." He looks my nervous form over.  
"Stick with me. You'll be alright." He gives me a crooked grin, strangely comforting, and I smile back. The slight ease I feel is quickly destroyed when another guard appears behind us, jogging, out of breath.  
"You need to come with me, nurse."  
"What's wrong?"  
"There was a fight. An inmate got boiling soup thrown on him, and there's no one on the ward." He looks at me apologetically. "You're the only nurse on the wing, and with the lockdown, we can't get anyone else." I take a breath and calm myself.  
"Okay; shall we?"

Something's off. The way the guard looked. His wish of "Good luck" as I venture alone down the final stretch of corridor towards the ward. Another guard stands waiting.  
"He's restrained, so you don't have anything to worry about. Just don't listen to anything he says." I step past him, hand raised to push open the door when I see through the window to the rows of beds. There's only one occupant, and he's immediately recognisable.  
"I can't go in there." I step back, shaking my head, but strong hands stop me from moving any further away.  
"You'll be fine. I'll be right outside the whole time."  
"No, you don't understand. Don't you know who I am?" I cringe internally at how self-centred I sound.  
"Should I?" He doesn't care.  
"I'm Harleen Quinzel." Nothing. "He kidnapped me last October, attacked me and my family at New Years. I'm not allowed to be in contact with him. You need to get another nurse."  
"There isn't anyone else. Do your job." He pushes me forward through the doors, making me stumble. Once I've regained my balance I keep my head up, staring straight past him to the opposite end of the room. No fear. I can feel Jerome's eyes on me as I cross to the supply cupboard. I just want this to be done. I pull out rubbing alcohol, burn cream, and gauze, and carry them over to the bed where he is strapped down. I let out a small smirk at the irony – Jerome trapped, and me free. My glee immediately dissipates when Jerome speaks.  
"Now, what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" I ignore him, trying to figure out how I'm going to treat Jerome's industries if I refuse to look at him. "Silent treatment, eh?" I force myself to look over him, avoiding his eyes. Burns trail down his face and under the collar of his shirt, continuing down if the soup staining the off-white fabric indicates anything. _I need to take his shirt off. Shit._ I grit my teeth and take a hold of his collar. I look up at him, making eye contact with him for the first time since I came in.  
"If you say anything, I will hurt you. And the guard won't stop me."  
"Oh, I know you will." Jerome nods in mock seriousness. I unbutton his shirt to the base of his ribs and spread it open. I do my best to ignore the slight fluttering I feel at the sight of his bare chest and focus on his injuries. It's not as bad as it could have been – they're only minor and can be quickly treated. Compared to the scars that litter his body, these are nothing. I bite my tongue, flipping my brain into work mode. Cold compress. Antiseptic. Burn cream. Bandage. I follow the steps robotically until I'm finished with his chest. I feel his eyes following me the entire time, but he doesn't make a sound. Not even a wince or a hiss of pain. It's like he's not even human. I hesitate, torn between my desire not to speak to him and the responsibility to do my job correctly.  
"I'm obliged to tell you that this will probably hurt, but I need you to stay as still as possible. Otherwise, I might stab you in the eye."  
"Sure thing, nurse." He winks at me. "Would have been nice if you could have warned me last time though." I roll my eyes before I repeat the process with the burns on his face. I notice that there are still bruises on his face, his lip still burst. A jolt of pride makes me smile internally. I damaged him. I left my mark on him for once, rather than his mark on me. As I work, I can't help feeling the leathery skin that frames his face, the dry, cracked seams where it was reattached. Not how I imagined it. _It shouldn't feel like this.  
_ "Don't you get any treatment for these?" I wonder aloud, placing a final dressing just below his jaw.  
"You think the people here actually care about what treatment we need?" He chuckles darkly. "You're more naïve than I thought, Harls."  
"Don't call me that. What about these?" I gesture to the now-covered burns, and he rolls his eyes.  
"Bribery. Needed to make sure I got in here. Goad someone into throwing boiling soup on me – ooh, remind me to tell you about Uncle Zach some time – and threaten the guards a bit. Easy." He talks as though it's obvious. But-  
"Wait, you wanted to be in here? Why?" Part of me already knows the answer, but I hope it's anything else.  
"To see you, obviously." I groan in frustration, walking away from him to dig through the cupboards. "What, you're not flattered?"  
"This can't go on Jerome." I find what I'm looking for and return to stand at the foot of the bed. "This obsession needs to stop."  
"Why? Why should I stop? I know, deep down, you don't really want me to."  
"You don't know anything about me Jerome Valeska." I storm to his side, opening the tub of moisturiser and starting on his forehead. I know I'm proving him right, but I can't stop myself. "You should really be getting this twice a day, but under the circumstances, it'll have to be once a week." I finish with the thick, raised skin that frames his face and move on to the thinner scars that circle his eyes. His eyes flutter shut and I let a slight smile grace my lips. I haven't seen him this vulnerable since that night on the roof – I doubt he has either. All that's left is his lips. They're dry and chapped. It's a miracle they're not permanently bleeding. I pull out a tube of lip salve. As I begin applying it to his lips, I speak. "Don't you dare make any jokes right now."  
"Wouldn't dream of it," He mutters. I switch back to the moisturiser, running it across the gruesome carved smile. His eyes are open again; they watch me as I finish and put down the tub. "All done, nurse?" Somehow his mocking is becoming less and less irritating.  
"This -" I hold up the moisturiser "- whole face, twice a day. This -" lip salve this time "- lips, when you wake up, when you go to bed, and after meals." I put the tub and tube into his hand and close his fingers around them. "Minimum. And you'll need to get seen by a nurse every week for check-ups. Not me, someone else." I step back and call the guard in, explaining what I've given him. I leave as the guard begins to unstrap him, turning to glance over my shoulder at Jerome as I cross the threshold back into the corridor. He watches my every step.


	24. And I Burn

p class="MsoNormal"I hover awkwardly outside of the director's office, trying to organise my thoughts. I'd broken our deal – but it wasn't really my fault. But will he understand that? It's a risk even telling him, but I'm trying to be honest. Besides, he'll inevitably find out somehow. He might even already know. Better that it comes from me./p  
p class="MsoNormal"I knock on the door and am immediately invited in. I sit down in front of him, watching as he finishes signing the forms in front of /"Harleen," He looks up at me, pen down and concern in his eyes, "Is something wrong?"br /"No, nothing," I blurt out before I reconsider, "Well, maybe something. It depends really."br /"Why don't you tell me what happened?"br /"How do you know something happened?" br /"Because you're panicking, and defensive." Despite my lack of focus, the way I fidget and fuss in my seat, he speaks slowly and calmly. It relaxes me, and I concentrate on why I'm /"We agreed that I would have no contact with Jerome, right?"br /"Right. Your mother insisted."br /"Well, a series of… incidents occurred, and -"br /"And our agreement was broken?" There's a dash of amusement in his voice, but it's overpowered by his /"Yeah," I sigh, slouching in the /"Are you alright?" br /"I am. In fact," Now that I was thinking about it, "I feel good. It was good to see him."br /"How so?" Director Williams frowned, the creases in his forehead etched deep from years of thinking and /"It felt… cathartic. As though he no longer has power over me. Do you get what I mean?" I don't want to push my luck, else I run the risk of getting locked up myself, but when Director Williams sits back, I relax. I'm not in any danger – I /"I understand, Harleen."br /"Also, I kinda told him he would be getting weekly treatment for his scarring, and more treatment for his burns. I know I shouldn't have, but I think he should receive it. Otherwise, it may get infected, and that will put more strain on the asylum."br /"You may be right, but it's simply not possible. The nurses are all too afraid to go near him."br /"With good reason," I comment, and he /"You know that better than anyone. So, really, there are no options. Unless," I see a thought appear, see him turn it over again and again in his mind before he offers it to me, "Unless you were to treat him." br /"But… I'm not allowed."br /"By my instruction. No one would need to know other than some guards, and another nurse or two." I consider the idea. The logical part of me knows I should decline, leave Jerome to suffer. It's what he deserves. And it's not safe for me to be near him. But that emotional part of my brain, the part that longs to be near him, to feel the life that I can only experience when I am with him, overrules all other /"I'll do it." He grins, as though a personal battle had been won for him as /"Thank you, Harleen. Of course, you can stop at any time, but this will be a great help to us."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"*/p  
p class="MsoNormal"And so I began seeing Jerome every week. At first, I tried to keep our conversation to a minimum, simply dealing with his treatment and leaving. It was strange, surreal almost./p  
p class="MsoNormal"But life carries on outside of Arkham, beyond Jerome. I went to my parent's house one day to find the hallway filled with suitcases and my father carrying another /"What's happening?" As far as I had been told we were having a family dinner, nothing out of the ordinary. But this was anything but ordinary. Wren appears from the top of the stairs and hurries down them, wrapping me in a hug. Our father looks at us, his face wracked with guilt. "Dad?"br /"Wren is going to boarding school," He tells me, immediately going into the /"What?!"br /"They wouldn't let me tell you. I'm sorry, Harls." I shake my head at /"It's not your fault." Following my father into the kitchen I find him and my mom standing /"How can you do this?" I /"It's what's best. She'll have an excellent education, and she'll be safe."br /"You can't just send her across the country!" br /"We're not sending her across the country. She's going to England." I take a step back horrified. br /"How dare you. How emdare/em you."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"*/p  
p class="MsoNormal"I know I should ignore the anger inside me. I know I should push all thought of Wren going to boarding school to the back of my mind and focus on my work. But I can't just forget about it. The whole day I'm snippy, rude to staff and prisoners alike. The worst part is how aware I am of the anger radiating from me. I'm most aware of it as I half-storm down the ward towards Jerome lying on his usual bed. He's watching me. Watching my every movement. Like he always is. Before he can speak, I tighten the straps holding him down so they are pressing against him almost painfully. I refuse to put up with any bullshit from him today. But clearly, I'm just inviting him to /"What's up with you?" He inquires, grinning at me as I pull out everything I need. br /"None of your business." I lay the creams and dressings out and begin the process, hoping that he'll shut up. He doesn' /"Come on, what's wrong? If I have to suffer, I should at least know what for." He gives me an innocent look and I roll my /"My parents have decided to send my sister to boarding school." That's all I say. It's more than he deserves to know. But he keeps pushing. br /"Ah, family what can you do?" He pretends to think about it for a brief moment, then gasps as though he's had a realisation. "I've got a few suggestions."br /"I'm not murdering my parents, Jerome," I sigh. With my admission, the anger has disappeared, replaced with resignation and /"Okay, I'm outta suggestions."br /"Thanks anyway," I roll my eyes. br /"Anytime, doll." That almost makes me laugh. "Why you so angry about it anyway? I loved getting rid of my family."br /"You hated your family." I suppose there's no harm in talking to him. "Wren is my best friend. And I've been a shit sister recently."br /"I doubt that," Jerome scoffs. br /"No, I have. Not really my fault though. I blame you." I glance towards the door, checking to see that the guard isn't paying us any attention to our /"Now that, that makes sense."br /"Right?" I say sarcastically. "And now, because of me, she's getting sent to the other side of the world." I shake my head, trying to move on. "How are your burns healing?"br /"Eh, they're fine," I raise an eyebrow at him. He sniggers as I begin to open his shirt. He's right they've healed well. They'll be fine after this. I layer on the burn cream methodically. It's routine now. Once again, I'm distracted by the hundreds of scars across his pale skin. "How did you get all these?" I wonder, more to myself than to /"That's a lot of stories, doll. Sure you've got the time?" There's a sinister edge to his voice but I ignore /"Tell me one then."br /"Look at my arm," I tilt my head at him, confused, but do as he says when he nods in encouragement. I have to unstrap his arm to do so and give him a look of warning. There's a scar fairly new, dashing across it. Looks like a bullet wound. "From the day I took you to Penguin."br /"The day I escaped," I murmur, tracing the mark in his flesh unconsciously. br /"Not a good day for me, huh." He chuckles. br /"Seems we're matching."br /"I suppose we are. Let's see it then."br /"Absolutely not." I frown, trying to be appalled at the idea of showing Jerome the scar on my /"Come on. I showed you mine."br /I huff, deciding to humour him. I reach behind me and pull down the zip on my dress slightly. I unstrap his other arm and his chest, letting him sit up. Turning, I perch on the edge of the bed. My heart is racing, and I try to reason that it's from fear, but I know deep down it's from anticipation, from the mere idea of Jerome seeing me exposed, vulnerable. He shifts my dress out of the way, just slightly, to expose the back of my shoulder and the wound there. His fingers brush over the scar and I gasp lightly, making him laugh. br /"Is this your favorite? Or do you prefer the one I gave you?" I stand up and away from him, my anger rejuvenated and seething through my veins. br /"Don't."br /"I -"br /"Just don't." I zip up my dress, furious at him. And at myself; for letting him get to me, for giving in to the things I want but can't and shouldn't have. He raises his hands and I sit on the opposite bed, desperate to put distance between us. "Don't break it."br /"Break what?" br /"This. Whatever this is." I rush the words out, don't give him the opportunity to interrupt me. "I hate you, I will always hate you, but… you're the only person I can talk to. Properly."br /"I'm flattered -"br /"Shut up." I stand, strapping him back to the bed. Can't have the guard getting suspicious. "I'll see you next week." I hurry away to the door, glancing back with the slightest of smiles when I hear him call:br /"Looking forward to it."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"*/p  
p class="MsoNormal""Someone's cheered up."/p  
p class="MsoNormal"I'm getting my things, ready to leave, when Molly comes /"Have I?" emDefinitely. /emBut I act as though nothing was ever wrong. I'm not sure /"What could it be?" She hums as she leans against the locker beside mine. "I can't imagine anything in here could have gotten rid of that mood." br /"Not sure." I close the door and lean against it to face her. "Maybe it's magic."br /"Maybe," She narrows her eyes in joking suspicion. "I'll figure it out."br /"Of course you will." She follows me out of the staff room and down the corridor, our heels clicking in time. br /"So, I heard a rumour it's your birthday next week." I stop, shocked that she knows. No one knows my /"How?"br /"How did I find out? Your ID."br /"Stalker," I roll my eyes, /"Sorry, invasion of privacy. But it's your eighteenth. It's important."br /"Really isn't." I continue walking but she keeps following. br /"You should celebrate." br /"Maybe." I haven't celebrated my birthday since I was thirteen. It doesn't mean anything. Just another year where I haven't died. Then again, it's pretty impressive that I've survived the past year. "You know what, maybe this is a year to celebrate."br /"Told ya'." She stops as I cross the checkpoint and I turn to wave goodbye. "I might even organise something for you."br /"Don't you dare."br /"Try and stop me."/p 


End file.
